


Providence

by Nightchild78



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightchild78/pseuds/Nightchild78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Between McGee and Ziva's constant bashing and Gibbs' coldness, Tony finally reaches the point of no return and quits, leaving NCIS and DC behind him. On the road again, he stops by the town of Providence, Missouri, and makes a series of meetings which might change his life, whilst Gibbs moves heaven and earth to find him. But isn't it too late? (eventually Tony/OFC, no slash, no other pairing)<br/>Spoilers : Set at the beginning of season 6. Spoilers for Dead man talking, Hiatus, Boxed in, Bury your dead, Judgment Day, Agent afloat and various other episodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The last straw

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my precious beta reader badly_knitted. I know this fic looks like a lot of other (better written) stories about Tony leaving NCIS (and especially the fantastic Sticks and stones by Charli911, which I encourage you to read), but I promise after the early chapters, I’ll try to write something new, or at least something I haven’t already read. This is AU, so I had to change a few things to suit the plot. 
> 
> I never meant to make Gibbs, McGee and Ziva look evil, but if everything was perfect in Paradise, there would be no story, so… All I can say is that there will be some redemption for Gibbs at some point.
> 
> I didn’t intend to post it so soon since it’s still a WIP, but my muse needs some encouragement, so let me know you if you like it. :D
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my precious beta reader badly_knitted and to Penumbria, who made this beautiful art for my fic.  
> I know this fic looks like a lot of other (better written) stories about Tony leaving NCIS (and especially the fantastic Sticks and stones by Charli911, which I encourage you to read), but I promise after the early chapters, I’ll try to write something new, or at least something I haven’t already read. This is AU, so I had to change a few things to suit the plot.  
> I never meant to make Gibbs, McGee and Ziva look evil, but if everything was perfect in Paradise, there would be no story, so… All I can say is that there will be some redemption for Gibbs at some point.  
> I didn’t intend to post it so soon since it’s still a WIP, but my muse needs some encouragement, so let me know you if you like it. :D  
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

_Washington, DC - September 15th –_ _Friday evening._

Tony locked the door of his apartment behind him. Without switching on the lights, he slowly slid down to the floor and rested his head against the door, staring at the ceiling as the mask he had carefully worn all through the day started to crumble, letting pain and anger slip through the cracks.

He banged the back of his head hard against the wood and a thud echoed through the corridor.

_What a mess._

He shook his head and sighed.

After coming back from agent afloat, he had truly believed that things would improve after a while, but now it was obvious, even to him, that he had been wrong. Things would never get better. Good old days were gone and had he been less dim-witted he would have realized it months ago, if not years.

_Never was the sharpest tool in the shed, were you, DiNozzo? But usually, it doesn't take you so long to realize you have outstayed your welcome._

He closed his eyes and bit his lip, fighting back the bitter tears burning behind his eyelids.

He shouldn't be surprised. After all, his own father had disowned him, his fiancée had left him at the altar, his former partner had betrayed him and Jenny hadn't hesitated to use him as a pawn to get her revenge. One by one, all the people around him invariably ended up hurting him or leaving him, one way or another. It was only to be expected that, at some point, even his team would do the same.

God, he felt so pathetic. He should have learnt his lesson by now. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was definitively a thickhead.

He should have seen it coming from miles away. Okay, this day had been a real nightmare, but if he was honest with himself, it hadn't seemed worse than any other day since Gibbs had left then come back from Mexico. It hadn't been different from so many other days, except this time something had cracked and he had finally seen the light.

As so often now, Gibbs had been in one of his very bad moods, mumbling under his beard and shouting… no, rather barking orders as soon as he had entered the bullpen, before disappearing with Vance into MTAC without any explanation.

The door had no sooner been closed behind the team leader than Ziva had attacked, quipping about Tony's slightly scruffy look and advising him to pull himself together quickly, if he didn't want to waste his best skill, in case Vance wanted him for another _supersecret_ undercover mission.

He hadn't missed the meanness behind her words and how she was not so subtly insinuating that given his lack of tech knowledge and military training, his 'best skill' was most likely his ability to seduce and get women in his bed.

Usually, he would have simply ignored her or would have dismissed her digs with some dry-witted retorts. But not this time. He had been too raw and on the edge for letting it slide. Six months as agent afloat, on top of the four months as team leader, during which he had stoically endured their permanent sarcasm and insubordination, had left scars.

He couldn't ignore how she purposely refused to admit how much what had happened between Jeanne and he had affected him and still acted as if Jeanne had only been another one night stand and his heart hadn't been broken. As if it was just a sick joke. As if he was nothing more than a cheap gigolo, bedding anything with a skirt on demand.

Of course, that was when McGee _Ifoundmyballsanddecidedtousethem_ had chosen to join the party and to Ziva's greatest delight had gone back over the Voss' incident, before suggesting with a smirk that Tony might start to think about enlarging his field of action. Just in case.

He had felt anger bubbling inside him like molten lava. He didn't like the jokes about that case. Not because Voss was a he/she. He didn't care. No, what bothered him was that he was a murderer. A fucking cold blooded murderer, who killed Pacci and played him.

Tony jumped up, fists clenched, ready to tell them where they could shove their opinions, when Gibbs' cold voice had made him freeze.

"DiNozzo! Your sex life and your life in general doesn't interest anyone here," the former Marine had shouted behind him. "Get back to work before I kick your ass into next month."

The entire bullpen had fallen silent around them. He had tried to ignore Tim and Ziva's smug faces and managed to plaster a blank mask on his features as he turned back to face his boss.

"Gibbs, you can't..."

"Are you deaf or dumb? I said 'get back to work'. _Now_."

The tone was sharp, the words insulting, but it was the look on Gibbs' face which had been the last straw breaking the camel's back.

Suddenly, Tony had felt transported through time and space. He wasn't Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, standing in the bullpen of the NCIS Headquarters and arguing with his boss any more, he was Anthony DiNozzo Junior, twelve years old, squirming in the middle of his father's study as the man told him he was disowned and sent him to boarding school.

He had thought the world of Gibbs. The man had been the closest thing to a father for him. But at that moment, all he had seen in his blue eyes had been the same coldness and disdain he'd seen in his father's.

Something had collapsed inside him.

"Whatever you say, Boss," he'd literally spit between his gritted teeth, swallowing his pride once again and feeling his face burning with humiliation as he sat down and buried himself in his paperwork.

He had thought it would be for real this time. That for once he had found where he belonged, he had finally found what he missed the most: a family. He was wrong.

Whilst doing his best to ignore the condescending glances of his co-workers, he had tried to remember the last time he heard an "attaboy" or "Good job, Tony" or even got an approving look from Gibbs and had found out he couldn't. Not since he had come back from the Seahawk anyway. There was no smile anymore, no approval.

He knew Gibbs still blamed him for Jenny's death, even if he had never said it out loud. Apparently being agent afloat wasn't enough of a punishment and he wouldn't be too surprised to hear that the former Marine had brought him back to DC only to personally take charge of his case.

He rubbed his hands over his face.

Now the anger was gone and he was just tired. Tired of wearing his eternal clown's mask, pretending everything was okay. Tired of being the target of everyone anger.

He should have taken Rota. He had been stupid to refuse it. Stupid to stay after he had been demoted when Gibbs had finally decided to come back and just dumped his stuff back on his old desk without even blinking. Stupid to believe things could be the same again after Jenny's death. Gibbs didn't trust him anymore and didn't want him around. It was obvious and the team leader couldn't have made it clearer than he had done during the Maddie Tyler case.

Moreover, it had been months now since the last time Tony had been invited to share a jar of bourbon in Gibbs' basement. The former Marine had simply disowned him, just like his real father did years ago. Only this time there had been no shouting or threats, only glaring and scathing remarks.

There must have been something wrong with him. Otherwise, how could he explain that two men, so different from each other, finally ended up despising him in the same way?

He snorted with self-deprecation.

It seemed that he was back in his usual vicious circle. First his father, then the various police departments he had worked for and now his team. No, he corrected himself, not _his_ team. Gibbs' team. They had made it fairly clear that they were not his, not as a team leader, nor as a SFA.

However, he didn't feel like a part of the team anymore. He was just the annoying and useless goofball no one knew how to get rid of.

Well, he wouldn't bother them any longer. He knew what he had to do. He had done it before, he could do it again.

Slowly, he hauled himself from the floor and headed towards the kitchen. After having rummaged through the cupboards and the fridge for a moment, he managed to put together a ham and cheese sandwich. The night would be long and he needed to refuel.

Once he had finished his Spartan dinner, he sat at his desk, opened his laptop and started typing.

Yes, it would be a very long night.

_To be continued_


	2. Severance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my precious beta reader badly_knitted.  
> Also a big thank you to everyone who has been so kind to send kudos and subscribe. It means a lot to me.

 

_Washington, DC - September 15th – Friday night._

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Tony looked at the ceiling and sighed. The only lighting was provided by the streetlight outside and with the exception of an occasional car passing in the street, everything was quiet.

It had taken him less than twenty minutes to write his resignation letter and send it by mail to Vance. At least he knew it would make the director's day when he found it in his mailbox on Monday morning. It was an understatement that the director didn't like him, but at least Vance had had the good grace to be honest with him and hadn't tried to pretend otherwise whilst stabbing him in the back.

Given he still had three weeks of leave to take to cover his notice, Tony had asked for his resignation to be with immediate effect.

He felt guilty towards Ducky and Jimmy for leaving this way, but going back to work was beyond his strength. The two men had never been anything other than caring and supportive with him and he would miss them a lot, but he couldn't stand the idea of spending another minute in the same room as the rest of the team.

He just wanted it to be over.

Abby was yet another dilemma. The Goth girl had never meant to hurt him on purpose, and he had always seen her as a sort of little sister. The real problem was, in fact, that she loved Gibbs. Not in a romantic sense, of course. It would be too weird. No, she loved him like children could love their favourite superhero. For her, Gibbs was like a knight in shining armour, without fear and without reproach.

No matter what he did or didn't do, she still loved him, completely and unconditionally. Where Tony would have had to literally grovel on the floor to earn her pardon, Gibbs only had to smile and bring her a Caf-Pow to be forgiven. Tony didn't blame her; he knew she couldn't help it. As he knew he would ever be second best for her.

But because of that, the two of them had slowly drifted apart.

Refusing to let despondency get the better of him, Tony jumped to his feet, switched on the lights and walked to the large closet occupying the whole far wall of the room. He opened the sliding doors and looked at the rows of suits and stacks of shirts carefully aligned, that filled the greater part of the shelving and hanging space. He thoughtfully ran his hand over the hangers, his fingertips caressing the refined fabric.

For years, he had used these overpriced suits as a bulwark against the outside world and a way to maintain the illusion of a confidence he was far from possessing. Wherever the path he was going to take would lead, one thing was certain, he didn't want to have to hide anymore behind this kind of artifice.

Going up on tiptoes, he grabbed the huge suitcase that was in the top shelf and put it on the floor, then he proceeded to fill it with the rest of his clothes.

His hand met the soft fabric of a cashmere sweater. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against one of the shelves. The sweater was a Christmas present that Kate had offered him the first year they had worked together.

He missed Kate. Things hadn't always been easy between them, but unlike Ziva and McGee by now, she had never been intentionally cruel towards him. In spite of their incessant bickering, she had stayed with him whilst he had been fighting against the fucking plague, though she didn't have to. They had become increasingly close over the years and who knew how far it could have taken them, if the young woman had not been killed?

At some point, he had hoped to develop with Ziva the same sort of camaraderie he had known with Kate. But the Israeli agent had always managed to keep him at arm's length, even more since she had come back from Israel.

Tony dropped the sweater on the top of the suitcase and undertook to clear out the last shelf of socks and underwear.

He put aside two pairs of trainers, a set of sheets and two towels, which finished up filling the suitcase to the brim.

Then he loaded the rest of his belongings in the trunk of his car and went to a shelter for the homeless, run by nuns and located less than ten minutes from home. He knew that the place was continuously open, whatever the time of day or night.

The look on the face of the nun who went to meet him was priceless, when she saw the armful of clothes and linen he was bringing.

It took him ages to evade the demonstrations of gratitude of the brave woman, who kept thanking him as he was reaching his car, telling him how much his gesture was appreciated and how his donation would be useful for their protégés, particularly in order to help them to look their best when applying for a job.

If personally, Tony had some doubt about the opinion an employer might have about a potential candidate wearing a $1,000 suit, he kept it to himself. He still had a lot to do and he hoped to enjoy a few hours of sleep before his departure.

Once back home, he decided to tackle the living room first.

One of the few positive aspects of his situation was that his apartment since he was back on dry land was rented furnished, which saved him having to rid the premises of furniture before giving back the keys.

He retrieved a moving box from the hall closet and carefully packed his precious collection of DVDs. He selected a dozen of them he especially liked and did his best to fit them between two piles of clothes in his suitcase.

Afterward, he cleared the contents of the medicine cabinet from the bathroom into the backpack he used for work, before putting it in the hall, beside his suitcase and the box of DVDs.

He checked one last time that all the cupboards were empty, then turned off the lights and went back into the bedroom.

Without bothering to undress, he fell back on his bed with his arms stretched out wide.

Maybe Gibbs was right. Who could be interested in someone whose life was so insignificant that it could fit in two bags and a moving box? For eight years, he had lived in DC and worked for NCIS and now he was leaving with even less than when he had come from Baltimore.

It was pathetic.

_Your life in general doesn't interest anyone here_.

Gibbs' sharp reply had resounded to his ears all through the night, mingling gradually with other much older ones that, although dulled by years, hadn't lost their ability to hurt him.

_You're worthless. You will end up in the gutter. You're a disgrace to this family._

How could he have imagined for a second that Gibbs might see him as a son?

His departure would most likely dent Gibbs's pride for not being the one who fired him at first, but nothing more and he could consider himself fortunate if McGee and Ziva didn't throw a party to celebrate.

With the exception of Ducky and Jimmy, he didn't expect his old team to miss him a lot. Perhaps, Abby would understand his reasons for leaving and mourn the loss of their friendship… unless she saw it as a spoiled child's whim and put the blame on him.

Tony felt a solitary tear running along his temple and wiped it away quickly. He couldn't afford to break down now. Maybe later, but not now.

He opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills. The prescription was old, but the bottle was still nearly full. He hated to use this stuff, but he really needed to rest. He dry swallowed two pills and curled into a ball.

Less than twenty minutes later, he was sound asleep.

_To be continued_


	3. Without a trace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my precious beta reader badly_knitted.  
> Also a big thank you to everyone who has been so kind to send kudos and subscribe. It means a lot to me.

_Washington, DC - September 16th –_ _Saturday morning_

When Tony got into NCIS headquarters on Saturday morning, he was relieved to see that, aside from a handful of agents on call, the place was mostly empty. Anyway, it wasn't unusual for him to come to the Yard during the week-end in order to finish some paperwork, and nobody seemed to pay attention to him as he walked through the bullpen.

In spite of the sleeping pills, he had woken up early and went for his usual four miles run, before a long hot shower and a quick breakfast.

Though he still felt exhausted, his mind was clear and his determination unwavering. He wanted it to be over. He wanted to leave his past behind him along with his cortege of ghosts.

He had spent almost an hour working on his laptop to terminate his lease and his miscellaneous subscriptions, finally making an appointment with his banker in order to close his accounts.

Once it was done, he had formatted the hard disk and erased the memory of his cell phone.

Cleaning the apartment from top to bottom had taken less than an hour, then, after a last glance around him, Tony had locked the front door for the last time and drove towards the Navy Yard.

After getting rid of the computer and the cell phone at a pawnshop, he had made a detour to a small shop downtown, where he knew he could get a good price for his collection. Selling it off this way was a heartbreak for him, but he couldn't afford this kind of excess baggage.

The last stop before reaching his destination had been to his bank, where he had withdrawn in cash the remaining money from his accounts, minus rent and payment of his last invoices. Three thousand five hundred dollars in banknotes, hundreds and fifties, which he had hastened to hide in his belt with his pocket knife.

Tossing his backpack on the floor, Tony sat at his desk and turned on his computer.

The fact that he was almost as much of a technophobe as Gibbs and had as little patience with computers as he did, didn't mean that he wasn't able to use them when needed.

In spite of what his apparent dilettantism might suggest, Tony was endowed with a great sense of observation and a remarkable capacity for memorization, when he took the trouble to use it. Which had often got him out of rather delicate situations and could be very useful when you were working under the orders of the infamous Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

At the beginning of the Frog operation, he had taken an active part in the creation of the character of Professor Anthony DiNardo, which had brought him to work closely with the technicians in charge of creating his cover. Given the complexity of the case and its ramifications, nothing should be left to chance. The experience had been at least positive inasmuch as it had allowed him to observe the technicians at work whilst they were creating the official documents relating to his undercover personae.

Even though he was far from having the necessary knowledge himself to carry out such elaborate work, he was not as helpless as McGee seemed to think. After sneaking through the databases, he began to draw up the documents needed for his plan. Nothing really fancy, just the essentials for daily life: driving license, ID card, the same degree in Phy Ed he had obtained at university.

He was aware this was only an empty shell and that his modest creation wouldn't withstand a deep examination, but he had neither the time nor the skills to create a truly new identity. Its sole purpose was to buy him some time.

He knew perfectly well that once Gibbs found out about his resignation, he would try to find him, if only to make his point about how much of a failure Tony was, before firing him anyway. There were only two ways to leave Gibbs' team: being kicked out of it, like Vivian Blackadder or having Gibbs' approval for a transfer, as for so many agents before Tony started to work for NCIS. Surprisingly, the first option had proved to be quicker and less painful and humiliating than the second one.

At the time, his father had a great time telling him how much he thought ill of him, before excluding him from his life and Tony was determined not to give this pleasure to Gibbs, just so it could spare the other man's pride.

Purely and simply disappearing might seem lax, but it was the only way that Tony had found to leave with head held high.

It was also a matter of survival. He was well aware that since things had started to deteriorate, and even more so since Jenny's death, he tended to drink too much and too often. His own father was an alcoholic. A social alcoholic, certainly, but an alcoholic all the same, and it was out of the question that Tony took the same path.

All he wanted was a respite to catch his breath. Buying some time to be forgotten. He needed a fresh start, somewhere else. And therefore, he had to sever all the connections.

After having erased his traces within the computer system, the same way he had seen McGee do on so many occasions, he put the files he had finished processing the day before on Gibbs' desk and finished clearing his own desk.

He couldn't help feeling a twinge in his heart, when he reached the bottom drawer where he kept Gibbs' medals. He slowly pulled the box out of the drawer and went to put it away in an empty drawer of the Ex-Marine's desk, where he also placed his service gun and badge.

Then, he threw his backpack over his shoulder and took the elevator to discreetly retrieve his new papers on the lower floor, before heading in the direction of the autopsy room.

The automatic door opened with a hissing and Tony stopped briefly at the entrance of the room where were lined the metallic tables over which he had spent so much time listening to Ducky chatting about one of his many youthful adventures, with his arms buried to the elbows in the bowels of a poor unfortunate who was waiting for the circumstances of his death to be unravelled.

Yeah, Tony would really miss Ducky and the Autopsy Gremlin.

Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he went to the office shared by the M.E and his assistant. He retrieved a bottle of 30 year old single malt from his backpack and put it on the desk with a small card on which was written only " _I'm sorry_ ".

After that, he then went to Abby's lab. After making sure that she wasn't sleeping somewhere on her futon after a rough night out, he grabbed Bert the Hippo, which was waiting quietly on a shelf for the return of his owner and put it on one of the benches, just in front of the door. He tucked a copy of "The Nightmare Before Christmas" between the legs of the animal and stuck on it a post-it on which he scribbled a simple " _I'll miss you_ " adorned with two small skulls.

After a last look around, he left the scene unnoticed.

Walking away from NCIS headquarters, he felt himself overwhelmed by a weird feeling, a mixture of sadness, trepidation and relief.

_To be continued_


	4. On the road again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my precious beta reader badly_knitted. Once again a big thank you to everyone who has been so kind to send kudos, bookmark and subscribe. It means a lot to me.
> 
> I'm French and all I know about American towns, I have read in books. Thanks to terrisnape from FF.net for telling me that there is actually a town called Providence in Missouri. Mine is a fictional town supposedly situated near the Ozarks. I have never set foot in the United States, never mind in Missouri, so please take this as it is: a pure fiction born from a too imaginative mind.

_Providence, Missouri - September 17_ _th_ _– Sunday afternoon_

Tony pulled over at the roadside, removed his sunglasses and rubbed his sore eyes. The journey by car had turned out to be exhausting. He'd been driving for more than four hours now, and it was high time to have a break. On top of that, he was starting to feel ravenous.

It would certainly have been much easier and less tiring for him to go by plane, but it would also have left too many traces and, given the stringent security measures at airports, he wasn't sure his new identity would have withstood a thorough examination. The train wasn't much better and he wasn't in the mood to travel across the country sharing a Greyhound with a herd of strangers. At least in his car, he had some peace and quiet. He could choose his itinerary, listen to his music and think.

Once he had left Washington, he had spent the rest of the day on the road, stopping only to fill up and eat, endeavoring to quickly put as much distance as possible between himself and his former life.

After a not so restful night in a shabby motel near Columbus, he had hit the road early, aiming to join the legendary Route 66 and to treat himself to a journey in the footsteps of Kerouac, before heading for California and more specifically Los Angeles.

It was not that he really appreciated the city itself, especially after what happened to Jenny. No, what interested him was the fact that it was a large metropolis, anonymous and geographically extensive, in which it would be relatively easy to melt into the crowd and disappear.

For the moment, however, the California sun was going to wait a little longer. Indeed, once in Missouri, and while he was heading to Meramec, he had recalled that one of his frat brothers came from the South of the state and never failed to extol the charms of the region, where he used to spend all his holidays. Having never had the opportunity to visit the area and determined to make the most of his brand new freedom, Tony had finally veered off due south for a small touristic visit to the Ozarks and the state parks.

Except for a few hard earned days off here and there, it had been years since he had been able to enjoy a real vacation, and a little bit of chlorophyll couldn't hurt him. He would always have time to join Springfield and Route 66, and finish his trip to the Pacific and its sunny beaches as planned.

He looked at the road map lying on the passenger seat and followed the road he was on with his finger. A few miles away, he noted that it went through a medium-sized town called Providence. The name made him smile. It remained to hope it would live up to its promise and he would find at least one open shop where he could buy something to eat and fill up. His 1967 Camaro might be less fuel-hungry than a newer model, but he had no wish to run out of gas in the middle of nowhere.

He ran his hand over the worn leather of the steering-wheel and smirked.

Leaving the Navy Yard, he had immediately driven to a car dealer, whose morality was known to vary according to circumstances. The integrated GPS of his car almost amounted to sticking a sign on his back marked "I'm here!" so he had to get rid of it.

The vehicle was 'clean', in perfect condition and provided with all the papers, so the guy hadn't caused any trouble, giving him a good price and in cash. Just seeing his face, it was clear to Tony it wasn't the kind of transaction he was used to.

Once it was done, he had gone back by bus across the city, changing line several times to cover his tracks and ended up at another car seller, this one perfectly respectable. After a few minutes of wandering along the aisles of the parking lot, he had almost burst out laughing at the sight of the ancient sand-colored Camaro parked in a corner. _This_ was really the perfect car to embark on a road trip across the country. So perfect that it was almost a cliché. Despite its decrepit appearance, the engine was still in good condition and so far he hadn't had to regret his choice.

The endless hours he had spent behind the steering wheel, with only Dire Straits' music for company, had left him with plenty of time to think, but the only conclusion to which he had come so far, was that he neither could nor wanted to apply for a job in law enforcement

Any application for a position of that kind would inevitably entail checks on his professional past and would also immediately ring an alarm with NCIS. And it was out of the question that anyone out there know where he was. It was more likely that he would try to find a job as a consultant for a security company. He knew from experience that they were much less fussy than the official police about the pedigree of their staff and were also much less a stickler for the principles.

He stretched with a sigh and made his back creak, trying to relieve his aching vertebrae.

All that mattered at the moment for him was to find a quiet place where he could settle down for a moment and take a little rest, gathering enough energy to bounce back, as he had done so many times before.

He took a deep breath and lowered his side window. Resting his head against the headrest of his seat, he gave himself up for a moment to the contemplation of the beautiful landscape before him.

On each side of the road and as far as the eye could see, stretched a dense forest, the foliage already draping itself in flaming autumn colours. The traffic was nearly non-existent and through the open window, he could hear the muffled rumble of a torrent flowing down below the road.

A puff of cold wind, loaded with the heavy smell of fallen leaves and humus, came to caress his face. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, letting himself be lulled by the rustling of the wind in the leaves and the chirping of birds hidden in the branches. After the constant hustle and bustle of the capital, it was so restful.

As far as he could remember, Tony had never been a big fan of the country and even less after the long months he had to spend alone in holiday camps, after his father had started his long string of remarriages. Although, he couldn't help but find something soothing and comforting in feeling the power and peacefulness of nature vibrating around him.

He enjoyed for a few more minutes the peace and beauty of the place, before stretching with a grunt and setting off again.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he left behind him a large sign announcing in white letters on a dark green background:

_Welcome to Providence Mo. – Alt. 1,310 ft – Population 3,568._

_To be continued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few clarifications, following various comments on FF.net concerning the time taken by Tony to join Missouri. My calculator on the internet indicates 818 miles and a journey of about 12 h 30 between DC and St. Louis. After leaving DC on Saturday late morning, if he drove to Columbus (a 6 h 30 drive) before stopping for the night, then for 9 hours from 7.00 to 16.00 (pee breaks and snacks included), I think he could reasonably have joined the Ozarks on Sunday late afternoon as indicated at the top of the chapter. I meant he had driven 4 hours without a break and not 4 hours in all. I hope I'm not mistaken (for the logic of the story, I really need Tony's arrival to be on Sunday late afternoon). : D


	5. The Silver Fox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my precious beta reader badly_knitted. Once again a big thank you to everyone who has been so kind to send kudos, bookmark and subscribe. It means a lot to me. Feel free to comment. I'd like to know what you think of it. :D

_Providence, Missouri - September 17_ _th_ _– Sunday afternoon_

At first sight, Providence looked just like the typical American rural town.

It was nestled in a valley between two mountain ranges of medium altitude. The road going through the city from North to South served as a main street lined with various shops and from which spread a network of narrower streets. Tony noticed, amongst others things the presence of a drugstore, a cinema and several food and clothing shops. At the first intersection, a road sign also showed visitors the way to the high school, the municipal swimming pool and the city hall.

As expected, the shutters of the shops were all lowered and the streets almost deserted at this hour of the day. Most people were more than likely settled quietly at home, busy sharing beers with their family whilst watching a game on TV.

Nevertheless, he began to go up the main street, turning the head from one side to the other in the hope of finding at least a self-service gas station.

He had almost reached the outskirts of the town, when his eyes caught sight of a red 'open' panel stuck on the façade of a diner. It was always worth trying. Taking advantage of the near absence of traffic, he did a U-turn and went to park just in front of the entrance.

He couldn't suppress a chuckle as he read the name of the place proudly displayed in white neon letters above the glass door of the entrance. _The Silver Fox_. He was coming to think that he was cursed. Even in the very heart of nowhere, he couldn't avoid being reminded of the former Marine.

He cast a glance at his surroundings and noticed that with the exception of a big navy blue pick-up and his Camaro, the car park was deserted. Crossing his fingers that the place wasn't about to close, he hastened to retrieve his wallet from the glove compartment and got out of the car. Whilst massaging a sore spot in his neck resulting from the poor quality bedding of the previous night's accomodations, he made sure that the doors and the trunk were securely locked before climbing two by two the few steps leading to the front door. He didn't want to risk getting stupidly robbed of his car and at the same time of what remained of his belongings.

The tinkling of a bell resounded as he slowly pushed open the door and he peered inside. The contrast between the bright light of the outside and the dim light of the inside made him squint and it took him a handful of seconds to make out his surroundings.

"Hellooo... Is there anybody here?" he called hesitantly.

A raspy voice laced with a thick accent came from the back of the room.

"There is. What can I do for you, pretty boy?"

A buxom woman rose slowly from one of the tables in the back of the room and walked nonchalantly to the bar, where she placed what looked like a ledger. She looked about sixty, sixty five with a bobbed hairstyle, strawberry blonde hair and piercing dark blue eyes.

Tony ran his fingers through his hair and scratched the back of his neck, giving her a sheepish smile.

"Well... I'm sorry to bother you, but I saw the sign at the door and I was hoping I could find something to eat."

The woman looked him up and down and Tony couldn't help squirming under her scrutiny. Hell, she could have given Gibbs a run for his money in regard to the art of glaring.

"Usually we're closed on Sunday, but you're lucky; today's the exception," she finally said, apparently satisfied with her assessment.

Tony inwardly sighed with relief. He was really starving and couldn't imagine hitting the road with an empty stomach.

"Thank you, Madam."

The woman shook her head and went behind the counter.

"Thank Barry Turner, not me."

"Excuse me?" He was puzzled.

"Barry Turner," she repeated, pointing at a picture on the counter adorned with black crepe.

"He died four days ago. Family and friends came from the four corners of the state for the funeral and they had a brunch here earlier. Otherwise, you'd have found the door closed."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

She sent him a wry smile and dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand.

"Don't be. Barry was an old fogy. He had a great life and died in his sleep. No need to feel sorry for him, really. Take a seat, I'm gonna see if I can fetch you something from the kitchen."

As she disappeared through the door, Tony couldn't help smirking. The woman really was a model of bluntness and, the least one could say, not at a loss for words.

He perched himself on one of the stools and looked around him, whilst playing with a paper napkin left on the counter.

The place was actually composed of two adjoining rooms and served at the same time as a pub and a diner.

The 'restaurant' part consisted of a long room, which was occupied by a row of bench seats aligned under large windows opening onto the parking lot and a refrigerated buffet meant to hold desserts. It was separated from the 'bar' part by a swinging 'saloon' door and copiously lit by daylight, whereas the bar was darker and lit only by the glass door. He also spotted a side entrance allowing the restaurant's customers direct access to the parking lot, without having to go through the bar.

_Always arrange a way out._ Without doubt, conditioned reflex died hard. With a sigh, he turned his attention to the bar.

It was nothing very original in itself, but Tony had to admit it exuded a quaint atmosphere in which you could easily feel comfortable. With the exception of the traditional zinc bar and worn wooden stools that garnished it, the furniture consisted of a few round tables and a half-dozen bench seats along the back of the room, near a dart board and a pool table which completed the furniture. Unlike the restaurant the walls of which were painted in shades of peach, those of the bar were covered in wood panels, blackened by years and decorated with a few group photos in black and white which, Tony assumed, depicted regulars or well-known local figures.

"Not exactly the fancy places you are used to on the East Coast, is it?"

The woman's voice startled him and he turned his head to see her heading back to him with a large plate on which were displayed an ample portion of meatloaf and an assortment of mixed salads. At the sight of the appetizing dishes, Tony felt his mouth already watering.

"In fact, it reminds me of a place where I worked as a bartender when I was at College," he hurried to reply, in order to sort out any misunderstanding. He rubbed his hands with delight. "Mmm… It looks delicious."

"I hope so. I cooked that," she said gruffly, before handing him the plate.

"Thanks," he said as he took it carefully.

The woman narrowed her eyes for a second, then let out in a softer tone:

"You're welcome."

The plate had barely met the counter before Tony started eating his way through the contents.

The woman raised an eyebrow then shook her head with an amused smirk.

"Mind if I keep you company, pretty boy?" she asked him, leaning an elbow on the counter, her other hand resting on her hip.

Tony shook his head and quickly swallowed a mouthful of meat loaf.

"Uh, huh. Not at all, on the contrary."

He was almost surprised to realize that it was true. In spite of her abrasive manners, the woman seemed to be rather nice, in her own way and displayed a strange mixture of intimidation and reassurance that reminded him of his grand aunt Carmella. God, that woman had scared the hell out of him when he was a child, yet she was one of the rare persons who had never forgotten to send him a card on his birthday, up until she died a few years ago.

Anyway after all those long lonely hours spent rehashing his dark thoughts, talking with another human being came as a breath of fresh air. Moreover, it looked like a good opportunity to test his new identity.

He put down his cutlery and held out his hand, flashing her his most dazzling smile.

"I forgot to introduce myself properly. My name is Tony. Tony Hamilton."

_To be continued_


	6. Tillie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my precious beta reader badly_knitted.  
> The character of Tillie Hackerman is pictured from the actress Fran Ryan and inspired by her role in the short lived 1980s CBS TV series The Wizard as Tillie Russell.  
> I know the maiden name of Tony's mother is Paddington, but it really sounded too 'british' for my purpose, so I chose to change it into Hamilton. I hope you don't mind.

_Providence, Missouri - September 17_ _th_ _– Sunday afternoon_

" _I forgot to introduce myself properly. My name is Tony. Tony Hamilton."_

He knew from experience that the best covers were those which were closest to the truth. So he had decided to keep his real first name and use the maiden name of his mother as patronymic. The only other change was the year of birth on his false identity papers which made him two years older.

The woman took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Tillie Hackerman," she introduced herself with a nod.

"Nice to meet you Mrs Hackerman," he said, keeping her hand in his a little longer than necessary and earning her first real smile since he entered the bar.

"Please, call me Tillie. Everyone else does."

Tony's grin widened with satisfaction. No one could resist the DiNozzo charm.

"Only if you call me Tony," he replied seductively.

She tilted her head back and gave him a pointed look which clearly told him she wasn't actually taken in by his act.

His smile faltered and he cleared his throat before resuming his chewing. Maybe the DiNozzo charm wasn't what it used to be after all.

"So, Tony, do you wanna drink of something?" offered Tillie with a sly smile, obviously amused by his sudden embarrassment.

He gratefully nodded.

"Yep, thanks. Water would be nice. I'm thirsty."

"You come a long way?" she asked him, while rummaging under the bar.

"The East Coast, as you said," Tony answered noncommittally.

He stuffed another bite of potato salad into his mouth before asking in turn.

"How did you know, by the way?"

"How did I know what?" frowned Tillie handing him a bottle of water.

"About the East Coast."

"Oh, that." She shrugged. "Your accent."

Tony looked up to her, trying his best to hide his annoyance. He had worked hard over the years in order to erase, as much as possible, any trace of Long Island accent and had thought he had done a good job of it. Well, apparently, not good enough to fool the bartender of a dive bar in the depths of Missouri.

Mistaking his expression for disbelief, she felt obliged to explain.

"Ironically enough, this town is situated at the junction of a National Park eastwards and a hunting reserve westwards. Between you and me, there is hardly anybody but a band of idiot politicians from Washington for setting up that sort of aberrancy. Anyway, between hunters, fishermen, birdwatchers and the yuppies who want to 'recharge their batteries', a lot of people come through here. After a while, you can guess where people come from just by the sound of their voice. With the years, it has become a sort of reflex. In your case I'd say New York or Rhode Island."

"Very impressive," chuckled Tony wiping his mouth with a napkin, without actually bearing out her assumption.

"I can also say that you definitely don't look like a bird watcher," she added casually. "What brings you here?"

He unscrewed the cap and took a sip, before finally answering.

"I'm in transit. Needed to eat something and refuel." Another vague answer, but this time it was true. He really didn't have any clue about where he would end up.

If his answers didn't satisfy her curiosity, it didn't seem to bother her or at least, she didn't let it show.

"There is a gas station a little further down the main street," Tillie informed him. "Byron, the owner, is a bit crazy, but he has the merit of being open every blessed day and at any time."

Tony nodded and put his knife and fork back on the plate.

"In that case, I'll pay him a visit."

She straightened and cleared the dishes before giving the bar a quick wipe.

"Do you want some dessert?"

Tony patted his stomach and pulled a face.

"I'm tempted, but I'm not sure that's very wise."

Tillie merely rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Nonsense. Apple pie or chocolate cake?"

Tony scratched his chin.

"Both sound great, but I think I'll try the pie."

"Good choice. Coffee, too?"

He nodded.

"With pleasure."

Two minutes later, she was back with two plates of warm apple pie and two large cups of coffee.

Tony raised a wry eyebrow and she scowled at him

"What? Do I look like I bother about my weight?"

He looked at her warily before trying to see if he could push her buttons.

"In my humble opinion and with all due respect, I don't think there are too many things that can bother you, Tillie."

She took a generous portion of pie and delightedly put it into her mouth before replying with amusement.

"You're right, my dear boy. There are only three things that really piss me off. Idiots, idlers and politicians, who, you could say, may also fall into the first two classes."

Tony burst out laughing. This woman was definitely not afraid to speak her mind.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was chewing a mouthful of pie, she carried on.

"You didn't tell me. Where are you heading, Tony?"

She wasn't the type to let go either, apparently.

He took a deep breath and looked down.

"Well… I'm not really sure yet. I'm making drastic changes in my life and it's still a bit of a blur. California more than likely. Or somewhere else. I'm not picky. Anywhere will do, as long as it's as far as possible from the Atlantic Ocean."

Tillie shook her head.

"If you want a piece of advice, forget California."

He looked at her quizzically, so she added.

"Too many earthquakes".

She mused for a second before speaking again.

"What about Alaska?"

He hissed between his teeth and took a sip of his coffee.

"Ugh. Nah, too cold and too many Grizzlies."

She rolled her eyes.

"Okay. So, why not Hawaii? Plenty of sun and bikinis there."

He shook his head.

"Sorry, but... Hawaii and I, we are not hitting it off. Bad memories. And for your information, they also have their fair share of earthquakes."

Hawaii was indisputably a beautiful place, but living there would only remind him of another time when he had also been abandoned by someone he trusted and that wasn't what he needed right now.

A soft chuckle escaped Tillie's throat.

"And you said you were not picky."

Tony smiled in return. He wiped his hands on his napkin and cleared his throat. In spite of the great pleasure he'd had chatting with Tillie, it was about time for him to go.

"Okay, so… This was delicious, but I'm afraid that I have to go. How much do I owe you for this gourmet meal?"

He pulled out his wallet, but she shook her head while gathering the plates and cups.

"Forget it. It's on the house. Barry's family already paid for it, anyway. If you hadn't stopped by, I would have had to throw the leftovers away."

"Are you sure?" he insisted.

"Yes, yes," she confirmed with a wave of her hand.

Tony tilted his head and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling slightly unsettled by Tillie's unexpected generosity.

"Well, thank you."

"Anytime pretty boy," she said with a soft smile as he stood up. "Take care of yourself."

He waved his hand and headed towards the exit, but just as he was about to open the door, she called out to him.

"Hey, pretty boy!"

He stood rooted to the spot, his hand on the doorknob, wondering if she had finally changed her mind about the free meal.

"Are you looking for a job?"

His brows shot up and he spun round, taken aback.

"Excuse me?"

She pointed at a slate hooked above the bar that he hadn't noticed before, with the inscription _'Help wanted'_ chalked on it.

"We are looking for a bartender. Interested?"

He screwed up his eyes and stared at her.

"You're serious?"

She crossed her arms and met his gaze.

"Always when it comes to business."

Tony's frown increased.

"Do you often offer a job to guys you've barely known for twenty minutes?"

"No," she quietly stated.

"Why me?" he wanted to know.

She pursed her lips and shrugged noncommittally.

"You look like a good guy and you said you have experience. I thought you could fit the job. No harm in asking."

Tony stifled a snort.

"You might be disappointed," he mumbled wryly.

She let out a sigh and resumed her cleaning, though the counter was already shining like a mirror.

"Maybe, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. So?"

Tony leant backward and rested his head against the lukewarm glass of the door as he reflected quickly.

The least he could say was that a bartender's job in the depths of the Ozarks wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he had left DC. Paying a visit to the national parks along the way was one thing, but moving to the countryside was a horse of a different color. Not that he had anything against the place itself, on the contrary. In some ways, it reminded him of Stillwater, Gibbs' hometown, and he kept rather good memories of his time in the small town in Pennsylvania. However, he had always thought of himself as a city boy and he wasn't sure that he could get used to living in such a remote place.

Not to mention that working in a bar when you're on the verge of becoming an alcoholic was certainly not the wisest thing to do. Though it would also be a good way to test the limits of his restraint.

He didn't know what to do.

On the other hand, it was more than likely the last place where someone would think to look for him. It would never occur to them that he could bury himself in such a backwater. This wasn't something that the superficial and preppy Tony DiNozzo would do. The real question was what would Tony Hamilton do?

As if sensing his dilemma, Tillie spoke again.

"Providence is a nice place to live, you know." She paused and gave him a lopsided smile. "Of course, as for bikinis, they're likely limited hereabout."

"I figured."

He couldn't help returning her smile. Girls and bikinis were really the least of his concerns at the moment.

"Give it a try," she gently insisted. "If it doesn't suit you, you are free to leave. Malibu won't disappear in one night."

Her lips quirked with a wry smile.

"Unless it goes under the ocean in the meantime, of course."

Tony lifted a hand and thoughtfully rubbed it across his chin.

He had to admit that Tillie's enthusiasm was rather infectious and in spite of his lingering reluctance, the idea of putting down his suitcase, in every sense of the word, looked more and more appealing by the minute. Besides, nothing forced him to stay forever. He could take the job, stay long enough to get his breath back and save money, then go back on his merry way.

With a sigh, he came to his decision and pushed himself away from the door.

"Okay, I suppose it doesn't cost anything to give it a shot. But don't expect too much, it has been quite a while since I worked in a bar."

Tillie's smile widened into a grin.

"Don't worry. It's like riding a bike, you never forget."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked around him, uncertain of what to do next.

"So I guess I should look for a hotel room, if I'm going to stick around."

Tillie tutted and shook her head.

"Good luck with that. There is a folk music festival at the neighboring town. All the hotels, motels or holiday cottages for miles around are fully booked until the end of the next week. That's why it's so quiet in town at the moment. Most of the people are at Blue Creek for the gigs."

Tony knitted his brows.

"Looks like we've got a problem, then."

"Yes, we do," she nodded soberly, before darting a sly glance at him and quipping.

"But I may have a solution."

_To be continued._


	7. First impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful badly_knitted for making it readable.
> 
> As always thank you to those who have been so kind to send kudos, comment. and subscribe. It means a lot to me. I had to split this chapter in two part due to its length, but I promise that chapter 9 will finally deal with the team and their reactions. Hope you'll enjoy.

_Providence, Missouri - September 17_ _th_ _– Sunday evening_

As he followed Tillie's pick-up towards the outskirts of the town, Tony couldn't help but hope he wasn't about to re-enact James Caan's performance in "Misery". Not that there was anything about the older woman that reminded him so far of the psychotic nurse Anny Wilkes, but he had to admit that the whole situation was rather confusing.

All he had had in mind when stopping by her restaurant, had been to have a bite before carrying on and now he found himself provided with a new job and more than likely a new place to stay. It seemed almost too good to be true or, as Abby would have said, 'definitely hinky'.

More than once he had had to resist the urge to turn round and resume his journey, but aside from the fact that it would have been extremely bad-manners towards someone who had only showed kindness and respect for him, it was also getting late and he could really do with a good night's sleep, as long as it wasn't in the Bates Motel.

Tony wearily rubbed his eyes and focused on the road, mentally mapping his way since they had left the Silver Fox. Exhaustion was competing with wariness inside him and damned if he could tell which one would finally have the upper hand.

It seemed so weird to him to follow so blindly someone he barely knew. With everything that had happened to him during the last few months, no, scratch that, during the last few years, he would have expected to be more cynical and suspicious of his fellows.

However, like the little boy who desperately held on to the hope that one day his father would decide to show him some affection, the man he had become still wanted to keep faith in humanity and believe that the whole universe wasn't aiming at deceiving him. He just hoped he wouldn't have to face another disappointment.

The rear lights of the pick-up lit up and pulled him out of his musing as Tillie slowed down and turned left into a tree-lined street bordered on either side by spick and span houses.

No long after, she pulled in to the sidewalk and Tony did the same. As he turned off the ignition, he quickly scanned his surroundings.

They had reached what looked like a good residential area and stood just in front of a two-story house the façade of which was covered with pale blue shingles whereas the windows and door were painted in bright white. The porch was adorned with a wooden swing-seat and a well-kept lawn planted with rose beds sloped down to the sidewalk. On the right side, a paved path separated the main building from another smaller two-story building serving, in all likelihood, as a garage or a workshop.

Although it had grown dark already, all the lights of the place were off.

"Whose house is it?" asked Tony after they had both got out of their respective cars.

"Mine," Tillie answered in a matter of fact tone.

"You took me to your place?" Tony repeated incredulously, before trying to hide his astonishment behind his usual banter. "Isn't that a bit hasty? People will talk. Don't you think I should ask you out on a date before we get so intimate?"

Tillie giggled.

"In your dreams, handsome."

She pointed her thumb at a sash window situated over the outbuilding's door.

"There's a room upstairs. It was meant to be a sort of master suite for my daughter, Karen, when she comes to visit with the kids, but my son-in-law hates to come here, so most of the time I am the one who visits them in Indiana. It's not very big, but it will do for now."

Tony raised his eyebrows.

"Just like that?"

Tillie rolled her eyes and growled:

"Yeah. Just like that. Is there a problem?"

Tony faltered. He really didn't intend to upset her or to sound ungrateful, but he was still trying to wrap his mind around her uncanny open-handedness.

"I'm sorry. It's just that…" He paused and pressed his lips together, looking for the right words. "We barely met and you already offered me a job and now a roof. I… I'm not a beggar. I don't know what you..."

She raised her hand and cut him off.

"Okay, kiddo. I'm gonna put your mind at ease, right here and now. I don't give handouts. I gave you a job and believe me, you'll have to earn each dollar of your pay check. As for the room, I'll deduct a rent from your wages. Do you still feel like I'm doing my good deed for the day?"

Tony shook his head and chuckled.

"Well, when you put it like that."

Leaning back against the hood of the Camaro, he rested one of his feet on the front bumper and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Anyway, care to explain to me why you're doing it? The real reason, I mean. Not that lame patter you served me about my _experience_. Because I'm sure there are a lot of people around here who are more suited to the job than me."

She gave a hint of a smile.

"Maybe just because I like you?"

Tony snorted dejectedly and looked away.

"You can't like me. You don't know anything about me."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a weary sigh.

"Then call it woman's intuition."

Without giving him a chance to protest, she carried on.

"Now, are you coming to see the room or do we wait until we take root on the sidewalk?"

Tony chewed his lower lip indecisively for a few more seconds as the two of them wordlessly looked into each other eyes, then finally stood up and silently walked around the car to retrieve his suitcase and backpack from the trunk.

As he followed her lead across the lawn, he saw her glancing sideways at his baggage, obviously unfitting for a trip which had been supposed to lead him to Los Angeles.

"You're on the run?" she snickered.

Tony's eyes dropped to the floor.

"I travel light," he mumbled lamely.

"I can see that," she teased him gently.

Using a remote control, she opened the sliding door and they entered a double garage fitted with a large workbench on the right; it reminded Tony of Gibbs' basement, except that all the tools and sawhorses were covered with a thick layer of dust.

"Ever think of settling down?" asked Tillie casually whilst rummaging in her purse on the hunt for her keys.

"I tried," whispered Tony resignedly. "Believe me, I tried."

"Then stop trying. Do it or don't do it."

Tony's eyes widened and a grin blossomed on his lips.

"Are you quoting Yoda?"

She pursed her lips.

"Actually, I was rather thinking of Robin Williams in _Dead Again_. You know, when he explained to Kenneth Branagh that you don't try to stop smoking. Either you smoke or you don't smoke."

"Yeah," nodded Tony. "I love that film. Movie fan?"

Keys at last in hand, she headed to a flight of wooden stairs on the left.

"Not that much. Branagh was Karen's idol when she was in College and she made me watch his films countless times. She was studying English literature and wanted to become a writer or an expert on Shakespeare at the time." She firmly grabbed the banister and snorted derisively before shaking her head. "For all the good it did."

"What happened?" Tony wanted to know, though he sensed he was skating on thin ice and that Tillie's relationship with her daughter was rather strained.

The older woman let out a heavy sigh and started to climb the creaky steps.

"Bryan Patterson happened." She spat. "That complete moron who's now my son in law."

She glanced to Tony over her shoulder.

"He was one of the assistant professors. Karen and he had an affair and of course, she got pregnant. She convinced herself that he was the love of her life and they get married."

Her words were literally dripping with sarcasm as she went on, punctuating each sentence with a louder than necessary creak from the steps.

"She gave up College and decided to become a perfect housewife. Without any degree or professional skill. Now, she's languishing in the depths of a suburb of Indianapolis, wedged between two ungrateful teenagers and a husband who ignores her most of the time, except when his coffee mug needs a refill. Talk about an achievement."

"She certainly chose to do what seemed the best for her child," offered Tony in a vain attempt to soothe her wrath.

"Bullshit," she grunted, as she reached the landing. "I raised her alone after her father crashed near the Laos border in 1973. I could have done the same with her nipper."

"Your husband was a soldier?"

Tillie's features softened at the mention of her late husband.

"Yep. Chopper pilot in the Marines."

"I'm sorry."

She averted her eyes and shrugged.

"Shit happens."

Although she was trying hard to hide it, Tony could see the undimmed hurt in her eyes.

"Yes, it does," he agreed quietly.

Tillie unlocked the door in front of her and stepped aside.

"And you? What was your subject?"

Tony knitted his brows at her abrupt change of topic.

"Sorry?"

"In College. You said you worked as a bartender when you were in College. What did you study?"

"Oh," he shrugged and scrunched his nose. "I only got a BA in Physical Education."

Tillie tilted her head and gave him a lopsided smile.

"At least you got a degree. That's better than nothing."

"Not everyone's opinion," Tony said bitterly whilst walking into the room.

The place was very simple and soberly furnished. A double bed, flanked by two small nightstands occupied the right half of the room along with a wooden wardrobe. On the opposite side, two naïve watercolors were hung above a low bookcase. A small wooden table and a chair stuck in the corner near the window completed the furniture.

It was decorated in shades of green, from the wallpaper to the matching velvet curtains and bedspread, the dim light of the bedside lamps creating a pleasant old fashioned atmosphere.

On the left, another door opened onto a small en suite bathroom which just like the room was spotlessly clean.

Tillie leant against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Does it do the trick for you?"

Tony turned around and smiled at her.

"I would be a quibbler if I didn't like it."

She held out the key to him.

"This is the only one, so don't mislay it." She patted his shoulder. "Welcome home, pretty boy."

Tony took the key and stared at it for a few seconds.

"Well... Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She gave him a quick nod and turned towards the staircase. "I'll let you alone. You must need to rest."

She already had her foot on the first step when she stopped and added.

"As for tomorrow, show up at the bar at 7.00. Someone will be there."

With that, she closed the door behind her and left him alone.

As soon as the sound of Tillie's footsteps faded away, Tony plopped down on the bed, all energy suddenly drained out of him.

Taking his head in his hands, he took a deep breath and tried to ease the knot tightening his chest. In spite of Tillie's kind demeanor or maybe because of it, his mind was in a whirl.

It wasn't so often that people took an interest in him without expecting anything in return. In fact, it hadn't happened since Gibbs picked him up from Baltimore. And somewhere along the way, Tony had somehow managed to mess up to the point where his former mentor and friend couldn't even look him in the eyes or speak to him in a civilized way.

But he wouldn't let it happen this time, he swore to himself. Not at any price. This time, he wouldn't delude himself. Come what may, in two months, three at the very most, he swore he would be gone.

_To be continued._


	8. Echoes from the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful badly_knitted who made it readable.  
> As always thank you to those who have been so kind to send kudos, comment. and subscribe.  
> This chapter is in certain manner a digression, but I think it's necessary in order to explain Tillie's state of mind. As announced, the next chapter will deal with the team and their reactions. Hope you'll enjoy.

_Providence, Missouri - September 17_ _th_ _– Sunday late evening_

The bedroom was dark and silent except for the soft whisper of the breeze outside. Safely hidden behind the half closed curtains, Tillie was peering outside at the opposite window on the other side of the alley. The light was on and her brand new neighbor hadn't bothered to close his curtains, so she had a clear view of the room.

A deep furrow was creasing her forehead as she watched the younger man, hunched on his bed and holding his head with both hands in a perfect embodiment of despondency. He hadn't moved an inch for the last ten minutes and each passing second was breaking Tillie's heart even more.

She shook her head with dismay. It was a pity to see the poor boy so sad and dejected.

Although she could look as hard as steel at first sight, people who really knew her also knew that she was far from heartless and that her apparent harshness was more a defense mechanism built over the years and the circumstances than a real trait.

In all honesty, her first reaction when she had heard the tinkling of the bell, after the departure of Barry's family, had been to give the unwelcome visitor short shrift. But that was before she found that tall guy standing in the middle of her bar with his drop-dead looks and his sheepish smile.

Twenty years ago, she might have thought she had fallen under the spell of his amazing green eyes and his good nature. Except she was too old by now and also too rugged for that kind of stuff. As charming as Tony looked, it took a little more than a pretty face and good manners to send Tillie head over heels and none of this would have earned him more than a good meal.

No. It was something else that had incited her to make up her mind and offer him a job. Something so inconspicuous that she could have missed it, if she had been less observant. A split second when the mask had slipped, allowing her to catch a fleeting glimpse of the look haunting his emerald eyes. The same look she saw in Jason Monroe's eyes almost thirty years ago. The look she had wished to never see again and had sworn never to ignore.

Her hand unwittingly gripped the edge of the curtain and she closed her eyes, as long forgotten memories echoed through her mind.

Jason and Max, her late husband, had been serving in the same regiment and long before Tillie actually met Jason in person, she had already heard of him at great length through Max's letters. They both came from Missouri, were both married with a newly born daughter, so it hadn't been long before they became the best of friends. Jason was also slightly younger than Max and obviously saw him as a big brother figure.

Tillie and Jason had finally met a few months before Max's death, when their regiment had got leave for Christmas and Max had unexpectedly asked her to allow Jason to join them for a week. At first, she hadn't been so keen on sharing Max's leave with a stranger, but he had insisted, explaining to her that Jason's wife was visiting family in Arizona with their daughter and therefore the poor guy would be all alone for the holiday season. Although it had seemed weird to her that Jason's family wasn't there for his return from the front, there were very few things she could refuse Max and she had ended up agreeing.

And in spite of Tillie's prior misgivings, Jason had proved himself to be a charming guest, helping with the cooking and the dishes and spending a lot of time playing with Karen, who was only one year old at the time. Yet, though things had gone more than smoothly, a strange sense of unease had bothered Tillie all through his stay. Something was off, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

It was only two weeks after their regiment had returned to Vietnam that the pieces of the puzzle had finally clicked together, when a letter from Max had arrived, informing her of Jason's death. The letter had obviously been censored, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to understand that the young man hadn't died at the front, but instead had killed himself.

Only then had she recalled the uncanny emptiness filling his eyes whenever he thought nobody was watching him, as well as the fact that though he used to smile in plenty, his smiles never seemed to reach his eyes.

Later, Max had confided in her that, just before his leave, Jason's wife had filed for divorce and asked for complete custody of their child. She had also made it pretty clear that there was already someone else in her life. Stuck in a country at war, thousands of miles away from his home, betrayed by the woman he loved and cut off from his only child, the poor guy had simply ended a life he saw as meaningless.

She reopened her eyes and glanced at Max's photo on the chest of drawers. Even after his death and its attendant woes, she had never forgotten about Jason Monroe.

And that was exactly the same pain and weariness she had read in Tony's eyes this afternoon, before he managed to hide it behind shitloads of fake smiles and cheerful small talk.

Of course, she was fully aware that she had limited room to maneuver, but there was no way she could turn a blind eye this time. She pressed her lips together and shook her head once again. For now, there wasn't much more she could do, but the poor kid really looked like he could do with some human warmth and that was something she had in plenty. After all a little extra TLC had never hurt anyone.

Turning on her heel, she left the room and went downstairs. Once in the kitchen, she retrieved a saucepan from the fridge and heated it up, then she ladled out a generous amount of the thick soup into a Thermos.

She grabbed her keys, wrapped a shawl tightly around her shoulders and headed back to the garage.

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

The knock at the door startled Tony. He ran his hands down his face and sighed before rising to his feet, his usual cheerful mask firmly plastered on his face. He opened the door and let Tillie into the room.

"Hey," she said with a grin.

"Hey too. You already miss me?" he ventured teasingly.

"Yep," she snorted. "Forgot to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight." She lifted the flask and added more seriously: "I won't be long. I was fixing dinner and thought you'd like a cup of soup."

Tony looked at the Thermos and slowly shook his head.

"That's nice, but I'm not really hun…"

He shut up almost immediately as Tillie sent him a glare which could easily translate into _You'd better eat it, boy or I'm going to feed you myself._

With a soft chuckle, he took the Thermos and smirked, admitting his defeat.

"Thanks. But you didn't have to."

Tillie dismissed his qualms with a shrug and turned towards the stairs.

"You're welcome. Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite."

Tony huffed a laugh and shook his head.

"Really doubt any bed bug is gutsy enough to dare crossing the doorstep of your house."

Tillie tilted her head and raised her eyebrows reflectively.

"True enough. Goodnight, Tony."

"Goodnight Tillie."

Tony softly closed the door behind her and leant against it with a heavy sigh. Looking down at the flask in his hands, he smiled. He wasn't sure he could ever get used to such a level of mothering.

He sat back on his bed and unscrewed the lid. The rich aroma of Tillie's soup immediately filled the air, tickling his nostrils and though he wasn't really hungry, he felt his mouth watering. He took a tentatively sip, then another, soon feeling a pleasant warmth spread in his belly. Unsurprisingly, the soup was as delicious as the meal he had taken earlier at the Silver Fox and in no time, there wasn't a drop left. No doubt about it, Tillie was a damn good cook.

Taking his toilet bag out of his suitcase along with a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt, he went to the bathroom and carefully rinsed the Thermos before placing it on the edge of the sink to dry. Then, he stripped off his crumpled clothes, stepped inside the inviting shower and turned the hot water tap on full. He washed thoroughly, then kept his head under the spray, letting the scalding hot water run down his back to ease the tension of his muscles. When the water started to cool off, he turned off the tap, dried himself and got dressed quickly before brushing his teeth.

Stifling a yawn, he went back to the room and closed the curtains. He didn't bother to put his clothes in the wardrobe, as he didn't plan on staying long enough to need to It wasn't a big deal, or really anything new since he'd lived that way for a long time, before joining Gibbs and NCIS.

He threw the comforter down towards the foot of the bed and plumped himself down onto it. It was still early, but exhaustion was starting to overwhelm him and all he wanted was to crawl into bed. As soon as he had set the alarm on his watch, he switched off the light and slipped between the sheets. They were thick and slightly scratchy, but at least they were clean and fresh against his skin. As he buried his head in the pillow, he could still smell a lingering fragrance of lavender.

In the DiNozzo house, sheets never smelt of lavender. They smelt of aloe vera or any other kind of exotic smell, but _never_ lavender. It was too cheap, too… proletarian.

It was the kind of smell which Tony always associated with the 70's TV dramas he loved so much when he was a kid. Those shows where loving fathers built houses in the trees instead of cutting them down, and where lovely mothers never drank anything stronger than soda water and spent their spare-time baking apple pies.

He snuggled further into the soft pillow and inhaled deeply. Even though he knew full well that it was only fiction and no family would ever be so perfect, he would have bet his bottom dollar that, in real life, Richie Cunningham's sheets would have smelled of lavender.

He bit back a smile as he briefly wondered if the fact that he was currently living above the garage made him a sort of new version of Fonzie.

He didn't have much time though, to toy with the idea. In a matter of seconds and without even realizing it, he was sound asleep, dreaming of Richie Cunningham's mother inviting Fonzie to dinner with her family and serving him a delicious soup.

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

Back in her kitchen, Tillie warmed up the rest of the soup for herself in the microwave. Whilst the device was humming softly, she picked up the phone and dialed. In spite of the late hour, the person she was phoning answered almost immediately.

"Harvey. It's Tillie. I know it's late, but I wanted to tell you I've found somebody for the job He should show up early morning, if you don't mind being there to meet him."

A soft smile spread on her lips.

"Yeah. No, you don't know him. But I bet you'll find him rather... interesting."

_To be continued._


	9. Impending cataclysm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful badly_knitted for her help and support under any circumstances. A huge thank you to everyone who took time to comment, send kudos, bookmark or subscribe :D  
> At last, the eagerly-awaited part where Gibbs and the team find out about Tony's departure. I hope you won't be disappointed. This will be a three-chapters scene with shifting points of view.

_Washington, D.C. - September 18th – Monday early morning_

In spite of the early hour, a palpable tension was already hovering above the bullpen, reminding McGee of those moments of stillness usually preceding the outburst of devastating storms.

Gibbs had obviously got up on the wrong side of the bed and was doing his best to let the rest of the universe know it through countless slams of drawers and even more numerous angry growls and exasperated sighs.

Trying to make himself as small as possible behind his computer screen, McGee sent another surreptitious glance at the elevator, in the hope of seeing Tony's familiar figure stepping out of it. Things were getting worse with each passing minute and his patent lateness was doing nothing to improve the situation. On the contrary.

"Does DiNozzo have any reason I wouldn't know of for not already being here?" Gibbs finally asked harshly, not even bothering to look up from his screen.

McGee winced and shrank even more in his chair, praying to all the Saints that the question wasn't specifically addressed to him.

"McGee!"

Though almost expected, Gibbs' barking made him startle nevertheless. Of course, he couldn't have been so lucky. He cursed inwardly. _Count on DiNozzo to piss off the Boss, even before the week had time to start._

"Huh... Not that I know of, Boss," he replied lamely.

"Maybe he's nursing a hangover in a chick's bed," muttered Ziva between her teeth, "Once again."

Gibbs merely glared at her, then turned back towards McGee.

"Call him and let him know that if his ass isn't behind his desk in ten, he's fired."

McGee grabbed his phone and was already dialing when Vance's quiet voice stopped him in his tracks.

"That won't be necessary, Agent McGee."

Three heads simultaneously turned towards the catwalk, where the Director was leaning against the railing, sporting an indecipherable look.

"What do you mean, Leon?" Gibbs immediately asked with a frown. "If this is another of your tricks and you sent him on one of your undercover…"

"Agent DiNozzo is not late," Vance cut him off. "He resigned."

He paused and watched the effect of his words before adding matter-of-factly: "With immediate effect."

There were audible gasps from around the bullpen, followed by a stony silence, all the agents from other teams eavesdropping shamelessly on the current conversation between the MRCT and the Director.

"But, he can't," protested Ziva fiercely.

She looked around for McGee's support, but the young man was too stunned to react, frozen opened-mouthed, the receiver of the phone still in hand.

"He has to serve a notice at least," she insisted. "He can't be allowed to quit, just… like that."

Vance looked at her and slowly shook his head.

"I'm afraid you're wrong, Officer David. I checked with the HR and it seems that Agent DiNozzo has built up far more leave than needed to cover his notice."

"It's bullshit, Leon," Gibbs burst out. "And you know it."

He stood up and without taking his eyes off of Vance, shouted at McGee.

"I said 'call him', so do it!"

Jumping out of his daze, McGee immediately resumed dialing Tony's phone number, whilst Vance leisurely went downstairs and placed himself just in front of Gibbs, the two men glaring at each other like stags about to butt antlers.

"Don't try too hard to hide your joy, Leon. You've been wanting to get rid of DiNozzo for a long time."

Vance smirked and pressed the folder he had in hand against Gibbs' chest, forcing the other man to take it.

"Oh, don't worry Jethro. I know exactly how I feel about Agent DiNozzo's departure. I'm not so sure about _your_ feelings."

"What is that supposed to mean, Leon?" McGee looked up at the icy tone of Gibbs' voice, but Vance didn't seem in the least impressed.

"Well, after having seen you fight so hard over him, I expected you to show more... enthusiasm at having him around again. But instead, you seemed like you could barely stand next to him. I meant it when I said that sending him afloat wasn't a punishment. However, I'm not so sure about your motives for having him back."

"My motives regarding DiNozzo are none of your business, Leon."

Vance smirked again and nodded.

"You're right, Jethro. Since he's not part of NCIS anymore, this is no longer my case. But you can't blame me for wondering why, after more than eight years of loyal service and having battled so hard to stay on your team, DiNozzo suddenly felt the urge to push off without notice."

With that, he turned on his heel and headed back to his office, leaving a fuming Gibbs standing in the middle of the bullpen. As Vance reached the last step of the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder and nodded at the folder still in Gibbs' hands.

"Oh, I forgot. Those are some application files for Agent DiNozzo's replacement."

"You can take them back. I don't need them," retorted Gibbs, throwing the folder across his desk.

Vance merely raised an eyebrow.

"If you say so," he said quietly before walking away.

Gritting his teeth, Gibbs turned towards McGee's desk.

"McGee! Are you planning on making that call today or at Christmas?" he snarled.

The Junior Agent blanched as he hung up for the fourth time.

"I'm sorry, Boss." The glare coming from Gibbs made him visibly gulp. "Hmm, I... I tried, but…"

He glanced sideways at Ziva, who was pretending to be lost in thought, applying herself to avoiding his gaze.

_Definitely no help from that side._

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and stuttered lamely:

"Um, he d... doesn't answer."

"How surprising," mocked his boss sarcastically before raising his voice once again. "What are you waiting for? Trace his cell!"

McGee cleared his throat once again and wiped his clammy hands on his trousers as discreetly as possible.

"That's the problem. I already tried, but… it seems that his land line and his cell line have been… terminated. I'll have to find the serial number of his phone and…"

He broke off and flinched as Gibbs leant over his desk and pushed his face close to his.

"Find him, McGee. Now."

"Y…yes, of course, Sir... Huh, Boss," mumbled the young man, as he started typing furiously on his keyboard in order to locate Tony's cell phone or his car, or whatever could tell him where he was, before his boss decided to take it out on him and bite his head off.

He had barely started to work his way through the various databases he usually used to track perps when a chuckle coming from a nearby cubicle made him lift his head. He looked around, trying to figure out who in the bullpen had suddenly developed suicidal tendencies and met the gaze of Agent Balboa, leaning arms crossed against one of the shutters, a sly smile dancing on his lips.

"Something funny you'd like to share with us, Balboa?" growled Gibbs, narrowing his eyes.

Balboa's gaze slowly drifted from McGee to Ziva and finally locked on Gibbs.

"You should see your faces right now," he sneered, his smirk enlarging to a sly smile. "It's priceless."

A deafening silence fell on the bullpen whilst McGee felt his jaw hit the floor at the man's foolhardiness. How could he not realize that teasing Gibbs at such a moment was tantamount to putting his head into the mouth of a starved crocodile? No one in his right mind would antagonize the former Marine when he was so obviously upset. But the other SSA didn't seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation. On the contrary, it really looked like he was enjoying the prospect of the impending cataclysm.

Gibbs didn't reply, but McGee could feel wrath radiating in waves from him and for a second he really thought his boss was about to rip the other man's throat out.

"The least we can say is that it's about time," Balboa carried on relentlessly, ignoring all the warning signs. "Come on, Gibbs. I don't wanna gloat, but just between us, you've had it coming to you for ages."

Gibbs quickly closed the distance between them, stopping barely an inch from the other man's face, his hands balled into tight fists.

"Really?" he said in a quiet but kind of dangerous tone. "Go ahead. Enlighten me. Why should I have seen it coming, since you're so well-informed?"

Balboa was about to open his mouth to answer when they heard the Director's voice coming from the gallery once again.

"Gentlemen," Vance said in a no-nonsense tone, his expression sullen. "If you intend to carry on this... conversation, I'd strongly suggest you do it in a more private place. There are people in here who are actually working. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear, Leon," said Gibbs, his eyes still boring into Balboa. "Conference room."

"Yours or the normal one, for once?" quipped Balboa as Gibbs turned on his heel.

Already halfway to the stairs, Gibbs favored him with one of his best death glares over his shoulder.

"Don't push your luck, Balboa or I might forget where we are," he threatened.

Balboa merely raised an eyebrow before striding in his wake.

"I'm sick with fear," he muttered under his breath.

McGee and Ziva shared a concerned look as he disappeared around the landing, unsure of what they should do. They hadn't been invited to join the two men in the conference room, but after all this was about Tony and the team. There was no way they could stay out of the loop, if only for a matter of principle. Not to mention that God only knew what could happen if those two hotheads were left unattended. Nodding in sync towards the catwalk, they left their desks and followed in the two men's footsteps, the hostile gazes of the other agents boring holes in their backs.

As he reached the landing, McGee stopped and let out a heavy sigh as reality hit him with full force for the first time since Vance had given them the news.

Tony was _gone_. He had left. Much in the same way Gibbs had left for Mexico almost a year ago. With the difference that Gibbs had at least managed to say his goodbyes, as laconic as they might have been. Instead, Tony seemed to have just… packed and vanished into thin air. And now Gibbs was mad and people looked at them as if they had killed their puppy.

"Are you coming?" called Ziva impatiently, already a few steps ahead.

"Yep. I'm coming."

He shook his head. _What a mess_.

He reluctantly went after her, trying his best to ignore the nagging little voice in his head whispering to him that whether he liked it or not, _he_ , amongst others, had his share of responsibility in said mess.

_To be continued._


	10. Crossing the Ts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful badly_knitted who made it readable.  
> A huge thank you to those who have commented my work, sent kudos or subscribed. You're all absolutely awesome. :D  
> This is the second part of the scene, written from Balboa's POV. I hope you'll like this new chapter. (Special warning: Gibbs' behavior may look a bit too OOC, but it will be explained in the next part).  
> This is the last chapter which is already written. The next one is almost finished, but still needs to be betaed.

_Washington, D.C. - September 18th – Monday morning_

The door of the conference room burst open with enough force to pull it off of its hinges. The wooden panel rebounded violently against the wall with a loud bang and Balboa barely managed to catch it before it slammed into his face.

"Okay, spit it out," growled Gibbs whilst performing an about-turn to face him. "The sooner we're done, the sooner I can go get my hands on DiNozzo and slap some sense into him."

Balboa let go of the door which smoothly closed behind him. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head with amusement.

"You'll never cease to amaze me, Gibbs. For so bright an investigator, there are times where you really are the most obtuse of men."

He took a deep breath and glanced away with a shrug, before looking Gibbs straight in the eye.

"It's not that simple," he said, motioning towards the door behind him.

"You can't just... haul his ass back to give him a lecture, like you'd do with a naughty little imp. DiNozzo's gone and it's obvious to anyone but you, that he has no intention of letting you find him. Otherwise, he wouldn't have resigned without notice and terminated his subscriptions." He made a clucking sound with his tongue and chuckled. "You know what? I'm willing to wager my paycheck that, as we're talking, he is already on the other side of the country."

Gibbs squared his jaw, lifting his chin defiantly.

"He could as well be halfway around the world and it wouldn't prevent me from kicking his ass back here."

Balboa let out a chuckle. Walking around the other man, he pushed aside one of the rolling chairs neatly aligned on each side of the table and casually perched himself on the edge of the varnished wooden top.

"Come on," he said with a sly smile. "We aren't talking about just anybody here. DiNozzo is the best undercover agent this agency has ever had. If he doesn't want you to find him, you never will. Trust me."

"We'll see about that," replied Gibbs with a stubborn frown, not seeming in the least impressed with Balboa's praise of his agent.

The other man closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to stay calm and composed. Really, hoping to talk some sense into the infamous Leroy Jethro Gibbs amounted to trying to get blood from a stone.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up with a weary sigh.

"Honestly Gibbs, sometimes I don't understand you. Why do you persist in pretending that you want him back when we both know it's not the truth?"

"Bullshit!"

Gibb's hand slammed on the table with a loud thud that reverberated throughout the room. The ex-Marine leant forwards and angrily pointed at Balboa's chest, his jaw clenched so hard that he seemed about to crack a tooth.

"You don't know anything," he snarled, accompanying his words with a murderous glare which would have made the most thickskinned criminal wet his pants, but barely earned him a raised eyebrow from the other SSA.

"What? Truth hurts?" quipped Balboa without flinching.

Gibbs' expression darkened even more and Balboa would have sworn he could see the proverbial smoke coming out of his ears.

They stared at each other for a moment, until Gibbs finally took a step backward.

"You're talking nonsense and wasting my time," he grumbled scornfully, before turning on his heel and heading to the exit.

"What's the matter with you?" Balboa called out, stopping him as he reached for the handle. "Ever since your sensational come back, it has been as if Tony was just an inconvenience for you. A _dead weight_ , as David would say."

Contempt was clearly audible in his voice as he quoted Ziva's words and the corners of his mouth twitched with disdain.

"The only time you acknowledged his existence was when you decided to deliver one of your famous headslaps. You couldn't even speak to him without yelling and you made it pretty clear to everyone within this building, and especially to DiNozzo, that he didn't meet your expectations anymore. Why can't you let it be? He's out of your hair now, enjoy!"

Balboa waited, looking the older man up and down in search of the thinnest hint of acknowledgement. To no avail. He wearily shook his head with another sigh. They were going nowhere and he started to wonder if it wouldn't be better to simply let the former Marine bask in his delusions.

"Do you have any clue what I'm talking about?" he asked, not really hoping for an answer.

And for a moment indeed, Gibbs remained silent, staring down at his hand still gripping the knob.

"I didn't make him quit," he finally muttered without turning around.

"Really? You could have fooled me," sneered Balboa, torn between anger and frustration. "Excuse me, but you didn't give him any reason to stay. He gave his all to this job and to you, for eight years. And you thanked him by treating him like trash every single day."

"I didn't treat him worse than anyone else," objected Gibbs fiercely. "If he couldn't take the pressure, then..."

"Take the pressure?" Balboa flared up. "Who are you trying to kid? I know your way of going on. I've seen you doing it countless times. You play with them like a cat would do with a mouse. You push them over and over, until they crash down. So that when you are finally fed up with your little game, they are almost grateful to you for kicking them out of your team." He paused and took a deep breath to calm down. "What really upsets you isn't that Tony has left. It was only a matter of time before you got him transferred or fired anyway. No, it's the fact that he pulled the rug from under your feet and spoiled your fun."

As he caught his breath, Balboa looked closely at Gibbs, expecting him to deny outright his accusations or at least to say something in his own defense. But the man said nothing, so he went on, determined to make his point, even if it was in vain.

"Dammit, he shot two armed guys at a run, dived into a river and dragged you out of a submerged car, before carrying out CPR on two persons at the same time. Not only did he save your damn life, but also Maddie Tyler's. His lungs are permanently scarred. If he had swallowed any of that culture broth, he might have died. Did you even thank him for that? No. Did you put a commendation in his file? No. If it had been for McGee or David, you would have had no problem getting them a medal. But it was DiNozzo, so it wasn't worth the effort."

Without a word, Gibbs moved away from the door and went to stand arms crossed in front of the large window, his face remaining completely blank, so much so that Balboa was wondering if he had even been listening all that time.

The room was silent for a few moments, neither man saying a word, then Balboa looked down before speaking again.

"But what must have hurt him the most, is that you didn't even trust him to watch his six during all that mess."

Gibbs snorted derisively without taking his eyes off of the window.

"The same way he trusted me with the Frog op?"

Balboa's head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes.

"Don't go there, Gibbs," he warned him. "It was need to know and _you_ , more than anyone, are aware of what that implied. He was caught between a rock and a hard place and you know there was no way for him to tell you."

"Yeah, I do," admitted Gibbs reluctantly after a moment.

Balboa rubbed his hands over his face with a sigh.

"So, what is it? Vance doesn't like him, I can get that; he is a tight-ass. But you? What the hell did DiNozzo do to make you hate him so much? When did he suddenly become a ne'er do well?"

Gibbs merely stared ahead through the window and continued to purposely ignore him.

"If Shepard was still alive…" started Balboa. From the corner of his eye, he saw the line of Gibbs' jaw harden and a nervous tic shake his eyelids. The rest of his sentence died on his lips as realization hit him.

"It's about her, isn't it?" he inquired, though he already knew the answer. "Please, don't tell me you blame DiNozzo for her death and all of this is some sort of sick revenge."

Gibbs didn't answer him, but the glimpse of guilt that passed through his features was enough to tell him what he wanted to know.

"So that's it." Balboa shook his head with dismay. This was even worse than he thought. "For God's sake!" he cried out indignantly, his anger suddenly boiling over.

Balboa stood up to come behind the other man.

"She is the one who lifted the protection detail. He was only following orders!"

"He knew something was up and he didn't do anything to save her," shot back Gibbs in a clipped voice.

"There was nothing to do," countered the other SSA. "She made her bed and she lay on it. When will you finally admit that she was unstable and obsessed? If it hadn't been this time, it would have been another one."

"He could have made a difference," insisted Gibbs.

"Oh, yeah. One more dead body on the floor. That's the only difference he would have made."

Balboa ran a frustrated hand through his hair and searched Gibbs' sullen face with disbelief. The customary 'bastard' behavior wasn't a surprise at all. In fact, it had been fully expected. A certain level of bad faith and stubbornness was fair game coming from the ex-Marine. But such a degree of coldness and detachment towards a man with whom Gibbs' had worked for more than eight years was beyond Balboa's understanding.

He felt a shiver run along his spine and the hair of his nape standing on end at the sensation of someone watching him. He didn't need to look around though to know who was spying through the crack of the door.

_McGee and David, of course._

He sighed inwardly. Those two were worse than sharks smelling blood, but since they seemed to want to join the party, he would be more than happy to sit them down and read them the riot act.

"Nobody ever taught you it's impolite to listen at keyholes?" he called out over his shoulder.

As the two other members of Gibb's team stepped inside, Balboa looked them up and down. Unsurprisingly, McGee looked slightly paler and more bewildered than usual, whereas David was already in 'spy' mode, assessing the situation and trying to find out what would be the best next move.

"Feel free to join the fun," he smirked, motioning them to take a seat. "As they say, the more, the merrier."

McGee sneaked a worried look at Gibbs who had neither moved an inch nor acknowledged their presence.

"Huh, Boss… Is everything okay?" asked the young man hesitantly, but the older man remained unresponsive, stubbornly peering out.

"Don't worry, McGee," snickered Balboa. "Your boss is fine. So am I. You won't have to help hiding the corpse."

He went back to sit on the edge of the table and gave the Junior Agent a wicked grin.

"How rude of me. I forgot to congratulate you, McGee."

"Congrat…" stammered the younger man, looking puzzled.

Balboa nodded still smiling.

"Yes. DiNozzo is out of the way now, so you're in the front line for the SFA position."

McGee's mouth silently opened and closed several times, his eyes passing frantically from Gibbs's back to Balboa's smiling face.

"I… Well… I don't think… I..."

"If I can give you some advice though," the Senior Agent carried on, openly flouting his discomfort, "you'd better make sure your forms are perfect, because I doubt Martha will be happy to hear DiNozzo has resigned."

With undisguised pleasure, he saw McGee recoil at the mention of the chief accountant in charge of all the requests for supplies for the Agency. Not only was the woman built like a woodcutter, but she was also well-known for her habit of bluntly rejecting any request that wasn't perfectly filled in. Yet, for some unknown reason, she had always seemed to have a soft spot for Tony.

"Guess she's gonna miss him _a lot_ ," added Balboa with a pointed look.

"She'll surely be one of the few," sniggered Ziva smugly and he had to fight the urge to slap her. "Most of the women over here would more than likely see it as a relief."

She winked at her teammate who instantly perked up and giggled in return.

"Would certainly help if he hadn't spent half of his time knobbing every bit of skirt around."

Balboa's face broke into a wolfish smile. Swallowing the anger which was threatening to overwhelm him, he slowly shook his head with contempt.

"It's so easy for you to say that, McGee. _You_ had a loving family, a mother and a sister to teach you how to behave like a perfect gentleman. All DiNozzo had, when growing up, was household staff and a stream of trophy-step-mothers." He paused to see the effect of his words. "Excuse me, but I don't think he was doing so bad, for a guy who raised himself by watching television."

McGee quickly sobered at the reminder of Tony's no-so-happy childhood and lowered his eyes bashfully.

"How do you know so many things about Tony's life, anyway?" asked Ziva nothing daunted. "You barely spoke to him at work."

Balboa whipped his head around and sent her a dirty look.

"Maybe, because when we went out for a drink _after work_ , I actually listened to what he said, instead of making fun of him."

McGee was about to say something, when the door swung open once again. All the heads, Gibbs' included, snapped around to find the unmistakable pig-tailed figure of a tearful Abby standing out on the doorstep. She was clutching her stuffed hippo and what looked like a DVD box against her chest and the mascara smearing her pale cheeks created a vision which would certainly have elicited a horror movie reference from Tony, if only he had been there.

She stared at them one at the time with wide eyes before finally settling her gaze on Gibbs' bleak face.

"Gibbs!" she choked out. "Where is Tony?"

_To be continued_


	11. Dotting the Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful badly_knitted who made it readable.  
> As always thank you to those who have commented my work, subscribed or bookmarked it. Sorry for the long delay due to circumstances beyond my control. I hope it's worth the wait.
> 
> This is the third part of the scene, written this time from Gibbs' POV. As promised, more explanations about Gibbs' distant behavior in the previous chapter. McGee and Ziva are not out of the woods. Abby joins the party and another character reveals an unseen aspect of his personality. Next chapter will bring us back to Providence, where Tony is about to take the first step into his new life.

_Washington, D.C. - September 18th – Monday morning_

"Where is Tony?"

Gibbs couldn't help cringing at the distress lacing Abby's voice.

"Abby…" he started, desperately racking his brain for a suitable answer.

"What's going on?" she insisted almost petulantly. "What are you all doing here? Why…" Her voice broke slightly and she blinked once before casting an eye over the rest of the assembly. "Why does nobody want to tell me what's going on?"

She looked down at the box in her arms.

"I came to my lab and there was… I…I found it and there was a note… from Tony, and… and…"

Gibbs took a step forwards, but Balboa once again pulled the rug from under his feet.

"DiNozzo resigned this morning, without notice," he said plainly, earning a sharp look from Gibbs, though the former Marine secretly felt somehow relieved that he wasn't the one breaking the news to her.

Abby's eyes widened impossibly and Gibbs could see her chin start to tremble as she fought back the tears welling up in her eyes. She looked devastated and it broke his heart.

With no warning, she dropped her small burden on the floor and threw herself into his arms, her shaking hands moving to grasp at the lapels of his jacket.

"No, no, no, no," she whined. "It can't be. Tony can't be gone. He can't leave us. You've just brought him back from the Seahawk. He can't be gone again. Why would he leave? NCIS is everything to him. We're family. He can't leave us."

She looked up to him with pleading eyes.

"Please, please, Gibbs. You have to make things right. You have to find him and bring him back. You have to."

Gibbs didn't know what to say or do to help her. As usual, she was taking him for some sort of omniscient superhero, but after everything he had heard from Balboa during their 'friendly chit-chat', he was beginning to doubt he could do anything this time.

The surge of anger and aggravation he had felt after hearing of Tony's resignation had now receded, leaving him disturbingly stunned and disconnected. Normally, he would have shut the other Supervisory Agent up with one or two well-placed retorts and should already be on the warpath, leaving no stone unturned in order to find his agent and bring him to his senses. Instead of which, he was still standing there, absently listening to the fruitless bickering between Balboa and his agents, unable to figure out where along the line the well-oiled machine had started to derail.

Objectively, Gibbs knew very well Balboa wasn't the kind of guy who dug his nose into someone else's business. They'd never had a run-in with each other and the solve rate of Balboa's team was barely a step behind his. He couldn't see any reason for Balboa to try to take advantage of the situation, so he had to wonder why the other team leader was so determined to put the blame on him for Tony's departure.

He made no excuse for the fact that he liked to keep his agents on their toes. It was nothing new and Balboa had never seemed to bother about the way he managed his team. The vehemence of the other man was all the more uncanny and had taken him aback, making him feel impotent and out of control, which was something he really hated.

He instinctively wrapped his arms around Abby, his cheek resting on her hair, and started to rub soothing circles on her back as her rambling slowly died out.

"Calm down, Abby," he said softly. "We'll sort it out. I promise."

"I know you will," she mumbled against his shoulder. "You always do."

"I wouldn't count too much on it, if I was you," snarked Balboa relentlessly. "There are still things that even the almighty Leroy Jethro Gibbs can't fix. And especially his own crap."

Abby's head whipped around and she detached herself from Gibbs. Momentarily forgetting her grief, she narrowed her eyes and pointed an angry finger at him.

"Don't you dare Mister! This isn't Gibbs' fault," she protested vehemently.

"Yeah, you're right," conceded the Senior Agent, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "I guess we can call it a collective effort," he added with a derisive smirk, "since you and those two clowns were the first to take your pound of flesh."

Abby froze and cast a bewildered look around her.

"What? No!"

She looked at Gibbs pleadingly, but the former Marine didn't have a clue what they were talking about.

"I never..." she defended herself.

"Never what?" Balboa harshly cut her off. "Never tried to make DiNozzo feel like a lousy leader and second best?" He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. The 'trainee' nametag you put on him for his first two months as leader certainly did wonders to boost his self-confidence." He leant forwards and looked her straight in the eyes. "I have news for you Doctor Sciuto. Tony wasn't a trainee, not at that time any more than when he started to work for NCIS. He already had six years of experience in law-enforcement when Gibbs picked him up in Baltimore."

"I didn't mean it that way..." she stammered lamely, waving her hands in distress.

Balboa leant back and pursed his lips.

"Whether you meant it or not doesn't matter. You insulted him."

Abby recoiled, visibly hurt at being blamed. McGee instantly straightened and took a step forwards, whereas Ziva hung back, obviously waiting for Gibbs' reaction, which didn't take long.

"Hey!" he shouted. He tugged at Abby's sleeve and gently pulled her to him, placing himself between her and Balboa. "You'd better watch your mouth or…"

"Or what?" Balboa challenged him, his eyes shining dangerously. "You gonna headslap me, maybe? I'd like to see you try." His eyes flickered between Gibbs and Abby. "I wish you'd been as protective towards DiNozzo when they ganged up on him."

He glanced over his shoulder at the two Junior Agents standing behind him and chucked. "Anyway, I have to admit that you're right about one thing, at least. I shouldn't be too harsh with you. After all, thanks to you, I made a shitload of money today."

Ziva and McGee shared a confused look, before turning towards Abby, but the Goth scientist was merely staring at the carpet between her feet without paying attention to them. By the look on her face, Gibbs could see that Balboa's words had cut deep and that she was beating herself up for whatever might have happened between Tony and her.

"And how did we do that?" Ziva finally asked.

"The pool, Honey," said Balboa with a wink. "The pool, of course."

She raised a questioning eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You'll have to be more specific. There are a lot of them going on, you know."

"I know," he conceded with a smile. "But, you should have listened more carefully. I didn't say _a_ pool. I said _the_ pool. The big one. The mother of all pools. The one that has been going on for years."

"Which is?" insisted Ziva with a slight hint of aggravation.

"What? Isn't it obvious enough? The pool about when DiNozzo would reach the limits of how much he was willing to put up with from you and would leave for good, of course."

Ziva gave a quick glance at McGee, who seemed to become greener and greener with each passing minute.

"Never heard about it," she shrugged scornfully.

Balboa snorted.

"Of course you haven't. You and your band of jolly fellows were a crucial parameter of this pool. It would have skewed the results if you had known about it."

He paused and dreamily smiled.

"Mister MIT and you are too green to have known that glorious time, but I guess you have already heard about the impressive track record of Agent Gibbs after he took charge of the MCRT. Abby here would certainly agree with me that it was quite a sight, all those agents joining and leaving his team quickly enough to make your head spin. Wow! Those were the days."

He turned towards Gibbs.

"What was the name of that poor girl again? Jessup? Jameson? It escapes me, but as I recall, it took you less than half a day to make her break into tears and beg Morrow for a transfer. I think that was a record, even for you."

Gibbs favored him with a bleary look but didn't reply, so Balboa turned back to his former targets.

"Whatever. No one seemed to find favor with your distinguished leader. Maybe with the exception of Burley, but… well the guy still ended up with a stomach ulcer, so I guess everything wasn't so perfect in Paradise." A sly smile bloomed on his face. "Knowing that, I'll let you imagine the reactions when we saw Tony turn up, all big mouth and goofy smiles. He looked completely inadequate and nobody gave him more than a week before Gibbs kicked his ass back to Baltimore." He sighed and looked down with a chuckle. "The fact that Gibbs picked him should have given us a head's up, because against all odds, the two of them actually got on together pretty well, especially during the time before Todd joined them, when they worked as a two-man team. After a while, it became evident to anyone that Tony wasn't about to go anywhere anytime soon and the pool just died by itself."

Balboa's smile enlarged to a grin as he added, "But thanks to you, business picked up again once Tony was put in charge of the MCRT."

"Why was that?" Ziva wondered, but even to Gibbs' ears her astonishment rang false.

"Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you," Balboa scolded her, all trace of amusement having deserted his face in a split second. "The way you and McGee behaved whilst DiNozzo was in charge was quite simply unacceptable. You had no right to put him down the way you did and to disobey his orders. He was your boss, whether you liked it or not."

"Obviously, he wasn't up to the job," retorted Ziva disparagingly. "You can't blame us for expressing our reservations when we thought his decisions were not wise."

She surreptitiously glanced at Gibbs, but he looked lost in thought and didn't seem to be listening to them.

"We had to keep him in line," she said with a shrug, "before he got too big for his pants."

"Britches, David," snapped Balboa. "Not pants. Maybe you should start learning how to use idioms and colloquialisms properly? Unless you want to make an even bigger fool of yourself."

Ziva scowled at him, but knew better than to reply to his scathing remark.

"Ziva is right," McGee saw fit to intervene. "The way he was acting, it was so… un-Tony. He strutted like a peacock through the bullpen… drank liters of coffee whilst… he bossed everyone around. It was really unnerving."

Balboa narrowed his eyes and glared at him.

"I don't remember you bleating about it when it was Gibbs who 'strutted around' and issued orders to you."

McGee looked at the ground and shuffled his feet.

"Yeah, but Tony wasn't..."

"Gibbs," Balboa finished in his stead. "Yeah, I got it. And I guess DiNozzo got it too, after you reminded him for the hundredth time." He ran a hand through his hair. "God, I don't know how he managed to put up with you for so long. I would have already wrung your neck after only the first week. DiNozzo was too nice with you. If you had been mine, I swear I would have sent you right back to FLETC for a little course about the chain of command."

He gripped the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles went white.

"Did it ever occur to you, Little Genius that, maybe, acting like Gibbs was the only way he had found to maintain a semblance of normality?"

McGee gave him a dumbfounded look which wrested a derisive snort from Balboa.

"Of course not."

"It wasn't that bad," Abby tried to soothe, finally coming out of her stupor. "We were only teasing. I never wanted to hurt him and I'm sure Tim and Ziva didn't mean to be disrespectful. Tony couldn't have taken it seriously."

Balboa gave her a sympathetic look, before wearily shaking his head

"You can keep telling yourself that, if it helps you, but the fact is that you spent most of your time entrenched in you lab, brooding over your shrine. You didn't see half of what happened in the bullpen or in the field."

"And you did," Ziva challenged him.

"Yes, _I_ did," replied Balboa, his voice sharp enough to cut diamonds. "I would have had to be blind and deaf not to. Besides, I know from experience how stressful it can be to become a team leader, so I kept an eye on DiNozzo. Just in case. The least I can say is that you weren't particularly helpful."

The argument continued unabated, but Gibbs no longer paid attention. Unnoticed by the others, he quietly resumed his position in front of the window, staring into space whilst his mind was reeling with everything he had heard since they had been told about Tony's resignation.

Nothing made sense. Though he desperately tried to process the flow of information overwhelming him, his brain seemed to refuse to cooperate and he felt a clammy haze shrouding his mind like a tick blanket.

Of course, he had suspected that things hadn't gone smoothly whilst he was away, but he could never have imagined it reaching such a level. Discarded snippets of conversation started to swirl in his head. Each of them nailing a growing feeling of dread in his guts.

For a man who prided himself on never leaving a stone unturned, he was now under the impression that he didn't know anything anymore, neither about the members of his team nor himself.

"You treated him like crap," said Balboa loud enough to make Gibbs turn his head. "Stop saying otherwise. All you did was act like spoiled brats who were not getting their way."

"It was just..." started McGee lamely.

"What? Speak up. I'm all ears. I've known you chattier."

"What the heck, Balboa," McGee burst out. "After all, it was just a well-deserved payback for years of bad pranks and harassment."

Gibbs warily watched the other team leader whose eyes were literally popping with amazement. He seemed on the verge of exploding and Gibbs distractedly wondered if he would soon have to restrain him from strangling the younger agent. But the guy was apparently a man of icy nerves, because when he spoke again, his voice was as smooth and controlled as if they were making small talk over tea.

" _Harassment_? That's what you call it? Come down to earth, McGee. After Cassidy became the first female team leader, she found a used tampon in her tea. That is what I call harassment and DiNozzo's pranks on you can hardly compete. At worst, it helped you grow a backbone. A little too well, in my opinion."

He crossed his arms and looked McGee straight in the eyes, making the young man squirm and blush under his gaze.

"Tell me McGee, do you have any idea what the hazing of a 'rich kid' rookie might consist of?"

Taken aback, McGee opened his mouth silently, then slowly shook his head.

"Me neither. But I guess it has little to do with superglue on keyboards." Balboa pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you know what your problem is? You don't think. Maybe, it's time for you to use that big brain of yours." He took a deep breath and looked away. "The only one who showed DiNozzo the least bit of respect was Shepard and she only did it to make him dependent on her approval, so she could use him like a twenty dollar whore for the sake of her little vendetta."

Gibbs' eyebrows shot up as he lifted his head.

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing but the truth and you would have seen it too, if only you could have made the effort to get you head out of your ass from time to time. Tony can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but as a team leader, he deserved the respect of the people working with him."

"How could I know? He didn't talk to me," Gibbs defended himself.

"No kidding! With you being so understanding and attuned? That's incredible. News flash, Agent Gibbs. Even the best trained dogs can turn on their masters when they're hit one too many times."

"He didn't turn on me," Gibbs couldn't help pointing out. "He fled like a bat out of hell."

"Just like you did," countered Balboa.

Gibbs' eyes drifted away.

"I needed to. I… had my reasons."

Balboa nodded.

"Sure. And no one ever questioned it. But you dumped him behind and let him deal with the crap. Never leave a man behind. Isn't that one of your precious rules in the Marines? Or did you forget that as well? Handing him your badge with just a "you'll do" wasn't exactly praise, you know."

"I don't do praise and DiNozzo knew it," Gibbs rebuffed him.

Balboa looked at him skeptically.

"Yet, I don't remember you having trouble telling McGee that he was a good agent."

Gibbs averted his eyes once again.

"If they were so unmanageable, why didn't he report them to the Director?" he countered, in hope of turning the tables on the other SSA.

"And let you think that he couldn't handle your 'legacy'?" scoffed Balboa. "He'd rather have given his right arm than take the risk that you thought he didn't live up to your expectations."

"Could explain why he wasn't so happy to see me back."

Balboa merely shrugged.

"He would have given the lead back to you without blinking an eye, if only you had had the decency to ask him. But no. You had to play the bastard card and throw all his stuff on his desk without a word of warning. Quite a way to thank him for his job, don't you think?"

"He could have lodged a complaint if that was a problem," insisted Gibbs.

"Why?" sighed Balboa. "You put him exactly where everybody wanted to see him. Meekly back in your crushing shadow."

He shook his head dejectedly.

"He should have taken Rota when Shepard offered it to him."

"What?" objected McGee. "But… but it was Barrett who was offered Rota,"

"Right, Genius. But only after Tony turned it down."

"Are you sure? Rota is one of the best positions in the Agency," Ziva pointed out dubiously.

"I don't know why you sound so surprised. DiNozzo has had job offers flowing for years. From every alphabet agency along with the most prestigious police departments. And I'd bet whatever you want that our former Director Morrow hadn't lost hope of poaching him one day or another."

"When did she offer him Rota?" asked Gibbs in a sharp tone.

"From what I know, just after you returned from your Mexican siesta."

Gibbs pressed his lips together and his gaze drifted away. He couldn't believe Tony had refused Rota to stay on a team where he obviously didn't feel wanted anymore. At least Balboa was right about one thing when he said that Tony was loyal to a fault.

Once again, he found himself drawn up into the thick fog dulling his mind. Although the logical part of his brain was thoroughly cataloguing what had been said since they had entered the conference room, the meaning of the words failed to permeate his consciousness, somehow reminding him of water drops rolling off the plumage of a duck.

He suddenly felt incredibly old and tired. He needed time to think and get a grip on the situation. He needed his basement and a shitload of Bourbon. Or more realistically, he needed to go down the gym and take it out on a punch bag, in hope of wearing off the numbness stiffening him.

Later, he would blame this uncanny numbness for lowering his guard and not reacting quickly enough when the door burst open once again.

"You bastard!"

The shout startled him, but before he could fully turn around, a fist painfully collided with his jaw and sent him backwards flat on the floor. Seeing stars for a moment, he blinked to clear his vision and found a disheveled Jimmy Palmer standing over him, his face contorted with rage as he struggled to get free from Ducky, who was doing his best to restrain his assistant from punching Gibbs again, one arm wrapped across his torso and the other one gripping his arm.

In a split second, Ziva and Abby were by Gibbs' side to help him up and McGee dashed towards Palmer. Balboa was quicker than him though and grabbed him by the upper arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you," he said in a confidential tone.

"Are you nuts?" protested McGee fiercely as he tried to free himself. "He assaulted a federal agent."

"So what?" muttered the other man between his teeth whilst tightening his grip. "Don't you think your boss has enough on his plate for now? You really want the news to spread that the famous Agent Gibbs had his clock cleaned by the _Autopsy Gremlin_?"

A trace of hesitancy flickered through McGee's features as he weighed his options, then he let out a sigh. Feeling his stance relax minutely, Balboa let go of his arm and nodded approval.

In the meantime, Gibbs had managed to get on his feet and awkwardly stood between Ziva and Abby, looking with bewilderment at the two medics who continued to perform their odd pas-de-deux in the middle of the room.

With a not so gentle shove, Palmer broke away from Ducky and stepped backwards, panting, his nostrils flaring in anger. The lips of the med student were pressed in a thin hard line and his body language was displaying a ferocity Gibbs would never have believed him capable of.

"Mister Palmer!" scolded the elder man whilst absently massaging his shoulder. "This is certainly the most _stupid_ thing you have ever done on my watch!"

"With all due respect, Doctor Mallard," replied Palmer in a clipped tone which contradicted his words, "don't count on me to apologize."

He threw a hostile look at the rest of the people in the room, before fixing his glare on Gibbs, and the former Marine had to admit that the kid had got balls.

"He got just what he deserved," added the young man unrepentantly, his hands still clenched in tight fists. "And I'd gladly…"

"That is not what I'm talking about," Ducky cut him off with aggravation. "Jethro's jaw has had worse and at this very moment, his well-being is the least of my concerns."

He sneaked a stern look at Gibbs, then slowly shook his head.

" _Your hand_ , Mr Palmer. I'm talking about your hand."

Jimmy looked down and winced as he tentatively tried to flex his fingers. His phalanges were raw and had already started to swell. Reflexively, Gibbs rubbed a cautious hand along his sore jaw and winced in spite of himself. The kid also had a damn good right jab, he had to give him credit.

"You have a fine future ahead of you as a doctor, my dear boy," Ducky kept admonishing his assistant, "but you have to be more careful with your hands. They're the most precious tools in our profession. You need to remember that."

Taken aback by Ducky's genuine concern, Palmer's anger faltered. His features softened and he sheepishly lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Mallard. I… I didn't… I'm truly sorry…"

Ignoring the stares aimed at them, the older man stepped forwards, took him by the arm and gently coaxed him towards the exit.

"Never mind, my dear boy. Let's go and check the extent of the damage, shall we?"

"Ducky!"

Abby's plaintive voice made them stop as they reached the door. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder and slowly shook his head.

"Not now, Abby. Please, not now."

Just before he left the room, his eyes briefly fell on Gibbs, tinged with something that the former Marine couldn't precisely define but which looked disturbingly like pity. The unpleasant feeling in Gibbs' guts suddenly intensified. Pity wasn't the kind of emotion Ducky usually showed in regard to Gibbs. As he recalled, the only time had been after they had found out about his girls.

After several seconds of awkward silence, Balboa cleared his throat and checked his watch.

"Okay guys. Not that I'm not having a lot of fun with you, but duty calls. So, if you don't mind…"

He straightened his jacket and was heading, in turn, to the door when McGee's voice made itself heard.

"How did you know?"

Balboa looked at him quizzically. "How did I know what?"

"That Tony would resign. If it has been brewing for as long as you pretend, how did you know that he would do it precisely today?"

Balboa took a deep breath and tilted his head back.

"It was a fluke. I was in the bullpen, last Friday, when your boss put the finishing touches to your handy work by letting DiNozzo know his high opinion of him. After everything that had been _brewing_ for months, as you said, it didn't take a rocket scientist to guess there was little chance of DiNozzo showing up on Monday." He glanced towards Gibbs. "Always spot-on, Gibbs. That must be a sniper's quirk."

_Your sex life and your life in general doesn't interest anyone here._

Gibbs' chest tightened uncomfortably as his harsh words resounded in his head. He hadn't meant it literally. He had been frustrated and cranky all day for a variety of reasons which had nothing to do with Tony. His remark had only been one of his usual meaningless outbursts. A stupid trick for letting off steam. Surely, Tony couldn't have taken it at face value, could he? Did it really need so little to push him over the edge and make him leave?

Balboa slowly retraced his steps and went to place himself just in front of him.

"I won a lot of money today and I should certainly thank you for that. But I won't." He nodded towards the three others. "They may have dug the grave, but you are the one who drove the nails in the coffin. You could have made a difference, but you chose to bury your head in the sand and to purposely ignore what was happening. Thanks to you this agency not only loses a damn good investigator, it also loses a very good man. I don't know what you had in mind by doing it, but I sincerely hope it was worth the price you'll have to pay."

Balboa crossed his arms and waited, but Gibbs remained silent, his eyes firmly fixed on the wall in front of him as the last shreds of haze in his head slowly cleared away and the remaining pieces of the jigsaw finally fit together, revealing the appalling picture of the slow decay of his relationship with Tony.

From the corner of his eye, he could see McGee and Ziva looking at him expectantly whilst Abby's eyes were downright boring into him. Just like Balboa, they were waiting for answers. The trouble was that he couldn't give them what they wanted, because doing so would force him to acknowledge a reality he wasn't yet ready to cope with.

How could he look Abby in the eyes and admit in front of her that since he had come out of the coma, he hadn't been able to recall the smallest thing about Tony and that his main reason for being so distant towards the younger man had been because he didn't have the slightest idea of who he was, except for what was written in black and white in his file? Well, at least until Balboa's fierce tirade gave him an outline of the missing parts.

How was he supposed to face the hurt on her face when telling her that he was the one responsible for her little homemade family being shattered beyond repair?

She saw him as a superman, but the truth was that he was just a liar and a coward. An impostor, who had purposely chosen to hide behind a mask, for fear of being seen for what he was, an old fool with a spotty memory.

Instead of facing reality and dealing with the consequences, he had preferred pretending things were back to normal, when they couldn't have been further from it. If only he had been less arrogant, things could have been so different. But now, anything he could do was too little too late. The damage was done and nothing he could say would change it, unless… unless he could find Tony and tell him the truth face to face, hopefully the young man was willing to listen and forgive. This was his only chance to make things right.

When his eyes finally met Balboa's, all traces of his earlier turmoil were gone, replaced by cold and unwavering determination.

"You said you got business to attend to. I won't keep you."

Balboa raised a skeptical eyebrow then, after a few seconds, turned on his heel without a word and left the room.

"Boss?" ventured McGee hesitantly, only to be immediately silenced by one of Gibbs' death glares.

"I thought I gave you an order. Get it done." He shot a quick glance at Ziva, who was still standing beside him. "Ziva, give him a hand. Now."

"But…" she tried.

Gibbs' features darkened even more.

"Did I stutter?"

Ziva instantly looked down and shook her head.

"No..., boss. We're on it," she mumbled under her breath. And without further ado, she hurried out, almost dragging McGee behind her.

Left alone with Abby, Gibbs slowly headed to the door and crouched down to pick up the stuffed hippo and the DVD box still on the floor. His damaged knees made a pop when he stood up, but he ignored it, just as he tried to ignore the twinge of pain in his chest at the sight of Abby's distraught face, focusing instead on the dull ache radiating through his jaw.

His expression softened as he held the two items out to her. He could see a new wave of tears welling up in her eyes as she tentatively reached out.

"I'm sorry Abs," he said softly.

He had already broken rule n°8 by assuming things when he should have checked, so what was just a little bit more?

Abby's eyes widened at his sacrilegious statement and they silently stared at each other for a moment, until she finally stepped forwards and went to snuggle into his arms.

"You gotta find him," she whispered, her chin resting on his shoulder as she stared at the ceiling in hope of holding back the tears threatening to fall. "Promise me. We have to say sorry and... And, Tony needs to know we love him and... Oh, Gibbs this is so awful. I was such an awful friend. Promise me, you'll find him."

"Yes, Abby," he hushed her. "I promise. We'll find him. I swear."

_To be continued…_

And now... back to Providence. ;D


	12. Interlude: Stopover in a Quiet Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful badly_knitted who made it readable.  
> As always thank you to those who have commented my work, bookmarked or subscribed. I truly apologize for the long delay, but RL kept throwing things in my face over and over again and I ended up being completely overwhelmed. I hope you’ll enjoy this new small chapter.

_Providence, Missouri - September 18th – Monday early morning_  

Tony slowly woke up at the sound of birdsong. The room was still plunged into darkness and as he became aware of his surroundings and realized that he wasn’t in his usual single bed, he indulged in believing for a second that they had been called out of town for a case. The illusion didn’t last long though and almost immediately the events of the last few days cut through the haze clouding his mind. Keeping his eyes closed, he burrowed a little further into the pillow and let out a groan, when he finally fully remembered where he was and how he had ended up here.

He stretched widely and yawned. The bed was really comfy and he didn’t recall having slept this well for weeks, even months. He briefly contemplated going back to sleep for an hour or two, but as soon as the idea crossed his mind, the ringing of his watch alarm jolted him into full awareness, reminding him that he was due early to his first day of work.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he got up and went lumbering to the window to open the curtains. The pale light of the dawn that suddenly flooded the room was enough to make him squint and it took a few seconds for his vision to adjust.

Outside, a thick fog was swathing the empty street, creating a surrealistic atmosphere which made him wonder if actually, he hadn’t been accidently sucked up into the Twilight Zone. Like in the episode where a couple woke up after a drunken party and found themselves in a strange town devoid of life – except for the distant laughter of a child. At the end, it was revealed that they had been abducted by a giant humanoid alien who brought them home from Earth for his daughter as “pets” and that said town was in fact the neighborhood of her dollhouse. He could still remember how much he had been particularly disturbed, at the time, by the complete helplessness of the two characters, reduced to the condition of defenseless ants in the hands of the giant girl.

Closing his eyes, he leant his forehead against the cool glass of the window and let out a deep sigh which left a little patch of condensation on the windowpane.

Over the years, life had taken great care in teaching him that it needed a lot less than to be trapped in a giant’s den to feel helpless and scared. Sometimes, he felt like a piece of driftwood tossed about by the waves. 

_Oh, come on, DiNozzo!_ he scolded himself. _Stop being such a wuss and get a grip. It could be worse!_

Taking a deep breath, he straightened and squared his shoulders.

It could be a lot worse indeed. Like that time, not long after his mother’s death, when his father's chauffeur had unceremoniously dumped him in front of a boarding school without further explanations. _That_ had been a terrifying moment. At least, now, he wasn't a frightened and introverted kid anymore. Despite most people’s opinion of him, he was a grown man in full possession of his faculties. A former top athlete and a seasoned cop.

_Don’t forget to put the term ‘former’ before that too_ , he added bitterly to himself.

And to think that, only months ago, he had been offered his own team and a position for which other agents would have killed, as Jenny had pointed out. His own team, a chance to prove himself. Yet another dream left behind, along with his promising career as a pro.

No. This was definitely nothing new. Just another twist in the road leading him in a new direction and towards another unknown destination. All he had to do was to find his bearings and adjust for the time being. After all, adjusting had always been something Tony DiNozzo was very good at. Tony _Hamilton_ , he berated himself immediately. DiNozzo was history, now. He’d better get used to it, and the sooner the better.

He glanced at his watch and his thoughts drifted back to D.C. In less than two hours, Gibbs would be at work and Tony didn’t even want to try to picture his ex-boss’ reaction at the news of his resignation. Anger? Disappointment? Or relief? Sadly, more than likely an absolute indifference.

McGee would certainly be quickly promoted to SFA afterwards, since he had already held the post and had the required experience. Soon, everybody would forgot Tony and all that would remain of his time at NCIS would be his faded signature at the bottom of old forms and a thick dusty file in the archives of HR. Before the end of the year, the eight years he had devoted to NCIS would be nothing more than a distant memory.

His gaze fell on his car parked in front of the house behind Tillie’s, then on the house itself. No light was coming from it, so he presumed the old lady hadn’t got up yet.

He scratched the back of his head and looked down.

In spite of their conversation the day before, he still had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that she was spontaneously willing to help a perfect stranger like him. Gratuitous acts of kindness weren’t so common, and if Tony had sometimes yielded to the temptation to believe he could be on the receiving end of some of them, the fact remained that he had been disappointed more often than not. 

He had wasted a lot of time and energy trying to conform to other people’s expectations in the hope that they would love him in return. From the perfect little boy in the sailor suit his mother loved so much to parade around like a puppy, to the confident and devoted agent he had striven to become under Gibbs’ leadership, the performances had varied over the years and the circumstances, but the result had always been the same: a complete and woeful failure. No matter how much he gave, it was never enough.

The corner of his mouth twitched bitterly. 

He was tired of being the King’s jester. Whatever Tillie was expecting from him, she would have to be content with the ‘real’ Tony. Even though, he now realized with some dismay, it had been so long since he’d let him show up that he would have trouble defining who he was exactly.

Shaking off the gloom that threatened to overwhelm him, he turned away from the window and fetched a set of clean clothes from his suitcase before heading towards the bathroom. From now on, his only concern should be to arrive on time for his new job and to manage not to screw it up before it even started.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he studied himself carefully. The dark circles around his eyes had lessened slightly, but his features were still marked with deep lines of stress and his skin remained paler than his usual complexion. 

He scratched the beginning of a beard adorning his cheeks and pondered about shaving it. Except as required while undercover, he had made a point of always being clean-shaven. He hesitated. The stubble was hardening his features and he couldn’t deny a beard made him look older and more mature, which wasn’t a bad thing. Besides, the place Tillie was running obviously had nothing to do with the kind of fancy places where the staff were dressed up to the nines and he really doubted Tillie would mind if he showed up unshaven.

Maybe it was the right time for a change. At least, looking different could help him with slipping into his new identity as Tony Hamilton. A new name, a new face, a new job… A new beginning.

Leaving aside the idea of shaving for now, he splashed some cold water on his face and summarily combed his hair, before getting dressed in faded jeans, a black long-sleeved t-shirt and a grey hoody. After one last quick look in the mirror, he went back to the bedroom and neatly made his bed.

Whilst he was busy putting his shoes on, he looked idly around and, without even thinking, took a mental note of some small arrangements he would have to make if he intended to stay more than a few days. The first of all would be a coffee marker, he thought as he stifled another yawn. A cup of fresh coffee really wouldn’t have gone amiss but, as well as the lie-in, it would have to wait. If he wanted to be on time, he needed to move along. Hopefully he would be able to find his way back to the _Silver Fox_ through this peasoup.

Grabbing his keys and wallet off the nightstand, he slammed the door behind him and rushed downstairs.

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

As the rear lights of the Camaro faded away, literally swallowed by the thick mist, Tillie drew the curtain of her bedroom and let out a heavy sigh. At least, he hadn’t taken his suitcase with him. That was something.

_To be continued_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stopover in a Quiet Town is episode 150 of the American television anthology series The Twilight Zone starring Barry Nelson and Nancy Malone. It originally aired on April 24, 1964.


	13. Harvey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful badly_knitted who made it readable. You are fantastic.
> 
> Please forgive me for the late update. Let’s just say that RL wasn't really kind with me these last months and I had to fight on all fronts, which left me completely exhausted. So, for those who haven’t given up on me, here is a new chapter. Maybe not what was expected, but I hope you’ll like it anyway. I rewrote it several times and this is the best I can do.
> 
> As always thank you to those who have commented my work or added it to their favorites list and story alerts. Even in my wildest dreams, I would never have hope such a reception.

_Providence, Missouri - September 18th – Monday early morning_

By the time Tony finally pulled over in front of the _Silver Fox_ , the fog hadn’t lifted in the least, giving the impression that the entire landscape had been swallowed under thick waves of cotton. As on the previous day, the parking lot was empty except for one car, though this time it wasn’t Tillie’s pickup parked in front of the main entrance, but a dark red Ford SUV.

Turning off the ignition, Tony checked his watch and winced. The drive had taken him almost twice as long as expected and he was now barely on time. Being late wasn’t exactly the best way to make a good impression on his first day, so he quickly got out of the car and leaped up the stairs.

The door wasn't locked, but the happy tinkling of the doorbell was the only sound to greet him when he entered. The bar was empty and plunged into semi darkness, only a faint lightning coming from the kitchen.

Heading in that direction, Tony walked down a short corridor. He cautiously poked his head around the kitchen door and caught sight of a large black man in immaculate chef’s whites, hunched over the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee by his side. The man was busy with peeling the huge pile of vegetables laying in front of him. He was so engrossed in his task that he didn’t even lift his head at Tony’s appearance, which allowed the former federal agent to study him more closely.

Although he could only make out the upper part of the man’s face, Tony reckoned him to be about the same age as Gibbs or maybe a little older, but not much more. The silver threads streaking his nappy hair were glowing under the harsh neon light and framed a broad forehead creased by two deep wrinkles. The pitted skin of his high cheekbones was so taut that it seemed about to crack on the bones, just like the fabric of the white jacket straining across his large shoulders.

The stance of the older man conveyed a fascinating mixture of utter control and restrained force and as Tony lowered his gaze to the long dark hands wielding his sharp knife with unnerving dexterity, he found himself momentarily enthralled by the swift movement of the blade.

“You intend to stay there all the day?”

The gravelly voice startled him and as he looked up, he almost recoiled from the pair of dark sunken eyes boring into him.

Hurrying to pull himself together, he discreetly cleared his throat and schooled his features into a genial mask before taking a step forwards.

“Hi. My name is Tony Hamilton,” he introduced himself, with a little wave of his hand. “I’m…”

“I know who you are,” the man cut him off, throwing a potato in the basin next to him.

He quickly finished peeling another tuber, then swiftly planted the blade of his knife in the chopping board before turning around towards the sink to wash his hands.

Whilst drying them on a towel, the man glanced over his shoulder and wordlessly looked Tony up and down. His hostility was palpable and Tony swallowed back his growing discomfort. 

He hadn’t been naïve enough to expect a welcoming party but still. They had barely spent thirty seconds in the same room and his new colleague seemed to already hate him. That should certainly be a record, even for him.

He sighed inwardly and tried to put things into perspective. It might have nothing to do with him at all. Maybe the guy simply thought the job should have fallen to a local and was upset to see a complete stranger barging into his playground.

It didn't really matter anyway. Whatever the problem was, Tony wasn’t willing to play the whipping boy anymore. He’d had his fill lately, thank you very much. He took a deep breath and was about to turn on his heels without further ado, when the other man sharply held out his hand towards him.

“Harvey Jackson.”

Tony raised a dubious eyebrow at the unexpected change in attitude and after a brief moment of hesitation took the offered hand. Only to find his fingers instantly crushed in a vice-like grip. Determined not to let the other man have the upper hand, whether physically or metaphorically, he hid his wince behind a tight-lipped smile and struggled to return the hand shake as firmly as possible.

“Nice to meet you, Harvey,” he muttered between his gritted teeth, a fake smile firmly plastered on his face. 

Harvey finally let go of Tony’s hand with a grunt and walked around the table, gulping the remnants of his coffee on the way.

“I’m the one in charge here when Tillie ain’t around.”

_Nice way to point out who’s the boss_ , thought Tony sourly.

With a stiff nod of the head, Harvey beckoned him over. “Come with me.”

Fighting the urge to cradle his aching fingers against his chest, Tony watched him disappear into the corridor without a second glance, but didn’t follow suit.

He weighed his options for a moment, the wheels in his head turning full speed.

Maybe the best thing would be to throw in the towel already and hit the road again. Tillie’s right-hand man had seemingly taken an instant dislike to him and Tony wasn't so sure that he was willing to deal with the mood swings of another hawbuck, especially so soon after his disastrous experience with Gibbs.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t handle that kind of pressure. Working for years under Gibbs tended to toughen you up. No doubt about it. No, he was just tired of always having to adjust to others. For once, he just wished it could be the other way around. Just once.

He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling.

On the other hand, he didn’t want to hurt Tillie’s feelings. She had been kind enough to entrust a job to him. She had believed in him without even knowing a thing about him and the last thing Tony wanted was to disappoint her. 

He heaved out a weary sigh.

He guessed he could have a try, at least until he found a way to repay her somehow. After all, he had worked in plenty of impersonal workplaces before. Places where nobody gave a damn about others and all they wanted was their paycheck at the end of the week. Surely, he could do that again if needed.

“Are you coming?” Harvey’s gruff voice called impatiently from the corridor.

Tony shook his head with a sigh.

One thing for sure, he wouldn’t let himself be walked over again. Whatever Harvey’s intentions were, he would meet his match.

“Yep,” mumbled Tony to himself.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“Coming!” he shouted louder, before entering the dim lit corridor in Harvey’s footsteps.

“What did Tillie tell you about the job?” Harvey asked Tony, once he had caught up with him.

Tony shrugged noncommittally.

“Not much. She didn't go into details. Just told me I would work night shifts from Monday to Friday and every other Saturday.”

Harvey darted a sideways glance at him and let out a huff.

“Okay, I’m gonna give you a general rundown. You’ll work nights from Monday to Friday, from 8 p.m. to midnight and every other Saturday, unless there is a special night that requires all hands on deck. Doesn’t happen often, but you'd better be warned.”

Tony nodded silently and Harvey carried on.

“Part of your job is also to take delivery of the supplies in the morning. Normally, that should be my job, but my back’s giving me trouble and I ain’t allowed to carry weight for a while. They usually deliver around 7 a.m., but I can make arrangements for them to do it around 8.” He paused and looked questioningly at Tony. “If that might be a problem, let me know right now, because I don't want to hear you whining about it afterwards. Okay?”

Once again, Tony merely nodded. The guy didn’t look like a big fan of ramblers, so he decided it was preferable to stick with short and direct answers.

“No problem. I'm used to short nights. It won't be a problem at all.”

Harvey pursed his lips skeptically.

“If you say so.”

He stopped in front of a door marked “Private” and ushered Tony into a small room lit by the harsh light of a double neon. It was sparsely furnished with a row of four faded green lockers, a small shower cubicle, a porcelain sink and a wooden bench, but Tony noticed that though the humble furniture looked rather worn out, everything was well kept and pristine.

“Here is your locker...” said Harvey, pointing at the last of the row on which was stuck a yellow label bearing Tony's first name.

“You can use it as you wish, as long as you don’t put anything smelly, flammable or illegal in it.”

Tony stifled a chuckle as he fleetingly wondered in which category the older man would have classified dirty socks, but kept his witty remark to himself.

Harvey sharply turned towards him and looked him straight in the eye, arms crossed.

“Rules in here are rather simple. You arrive on time. You do your job and you don't cause trouble. You don't drink nor flirt on the clock. If you want to hit on a girl or get wasted, you do it on your spare time and preferably as far as possible from this place. You think you can manage?”

“Yes,” Tony acquiesced without hesitation. Outside a professional framework, women and alcohol were definitely two of the things which he intended to avoid as much as possible.

Harvey let out a non-committal grunt, looking rather unconvinced by Tony’s assertion, but didn’t elaborate.

Tony glanced around him and his eyes fell on the bright pink label stuck on the forth locker. He stepped forwards and squinted to decipher the name handwritten on it. When he turned his head to ask Harvey who _Callie_ was, he found the older man glaring at him, clearly annoyed by Tony’s display of curiosity.

“Callie is our waitress and she only works at mealtimes.” His frown increased as he came face to face with Tony, purposely invading his personal space. “And I warn you already: she's not on the menu. If I ever see you bothering her, I'll kick your ass out of here so fast your head is gonna spin. Clear?”

Tony returned Harvey’s glare and lifted his chin defiantly. The other man’s undisguised hostility was starting to get on his nerves and he could feel his patience melt away.

“Crystal clear,” he snapped.

“Yeah, it better be,” Harvey growled, the threat in his words and tone evident.

They stood like that for a moment, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, until Harvey finally broke the spell and backed off.

“Come on. There’s still a lot I have to show you.”

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

After that first brush, the following half-hour was spent in what one could call an uptight atmosphere, as they thoughtfully went through the well-oiled cogs of the house. Harvey was just finishing showing Tony how to work the pumps when the sound of a horn announced the arrival of the daily delivery.

Harvey glanced at his watch and smirked.

“Gary’s on time for once.”

As he went to open the back door, Tony steeled himself and wordlessly followed him, gloomily wondering how he was going to be eaten this time. If the older man’s lukewarm reception was a sample of the famous “southern hospitality”, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to have another demonstration. 

As they reached the back door, Gary Sparks, the delivery man, was skillfully parking his huge truck in reverse

In his mid-fifties, tall but as thin as a rake, Gary was the epitome of sternness. His lanky limbs looked too long compared to the rest of his body, reminding Tony of an old knotty tree and his craggy face was furrowed by an array of deep wrinkles which did nothing to soften it.

When Tony saw him hop out of the cab with a loud curse and wipe his scowling face with a handkerchief, he had every reason to worry, yet, it took him only a handful of seconds to realize that taking Gary at face value would be a huge mistake. As soon as his eyes fell on Tony, his face broke into a huge smile which lit up his features and instantly chased away all trace of harshness.

Harvey tersely introduced the two of them before going back to his stoves.

He’d no sooner left than Gary playfully nudged Tony in the ribs with a meaningful glance towards the back door.

“Don’t worry too much about the grumpy man, kiddo. He barks more than he bites.”

“No problem. I’ve had worse,” shrugged Tony, not wanting to make a fuss.

Gary raised a dubious eyebrow and handed him a beer keg.

“Wow. That musta been something, because on my scale, Harv’s already pretty freaky.”

Tony couldn’t help chuckling bitterly and shook his head, taking the keg from Gary’s hands.

“You said it.”

“So where do you come from, boy? Something tells me you ain’t from round here.”

“New York,” Tony answered laconically.

Gary pulled a face.

“The Big Appel? Well, that’s kind of a hike. And what brings you to our good old Missouri?”

Tony averted his eyes. Here came the part he had been dreading. The understandable curiosity and its attendant questions.

“Huh, fresh air?” he finally ventured with a wan smile.

Gary gave him a puzzled look and Tony couldn't help cringing inwardly.

It was a flimsy answer and the well put together story he had rehearsed during his journey to work would have certainly been more suitable. But even though he truly balked at bringing up the inglorious stream of failures which had led him there, setting the foundations of his new life on outright lies didn’t exactly fit his idea of a fresh start. So, all in all, he reckoned lies by omission didn’t look like too bad an option.

The two men stared at each other, Gary clearly expecting him to elaborate. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Tony was about to give up, to serve him with a fib but Gary saved him the trouble.

“In that case, man, you made the right choice, because fresh air is something we have plenty of round here,” he said with a knowing nod, letting Tony know that he didn’t intend to press the subject further.

Tony favored him with a grateful smile to which Gary answered with a lopsided one and they resumed their task, turning the conversation by common consent to the last match of the Tigers and other lighter topics.

NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS

Tony closed the door of the storeroom behind him and leant back against the wall with a heavy sigh. His limbs were shaking from exertion and he swore to himself that he would never again unload a truck without having a decent breakfast first.

If the amount of supplies he had just stored was any indication of the financial soundness of the _Silver Fox_ , then there was definitely no risk that the place would run out of business any time soon.

He closed his eyes and arched his back to work out the kinks in his spine, letting out a contented sigh when his vertebrae clicked back together. God, he couldn’t remember having moved so many crates and kegs in his life. Not even during his years in college, when he had been working in a trendy bar in Columbus to pay his tuition after he lost his scholarship. On the bright side, at this rate, he wouldn’t need to go to the gym any time soon.

He cast a glance around him and snorted bitterly.

Here he was now, bartender in a godforsaken hole and hiding under a false identity like a fugitive, when less than seventy two hours ago, he was still a top-notch undercover agent working for a powerful federal agency in Washington. That was laughable. 

Looking down at his watch, he frowned. The news of his resignation had undoubtedly spread by now. He scratched the back of his neck and considered finding a phone to call Ducky or Jimmy, if only to know the extent of the damage and tell them he was alright.

But it wasn’t the kind of weakness he could afford anymore and he knew it too well. Rubbing salt in the wound would be no use to anyone. He had made his bed and now he must lie on it.

He hadn't many illusions about himself. He wasn’t getting younger and this was certainly his last chance to wipe the slate clean and do something with his life.

Objectively, his current situation looked rather lowly and a little dull, but compared to what he had left behind, it was more than okay.

Of course, to say that things were strained with Harvey would be the understatement of the year, but for now the other bartender had been the one negative item in the equation. Tillie and Gary had been nothing but friendly, so in the scheme of things, Tony was pretty sure he could manage just fine, considering the two men didn't even have to work together on the same shift.

A delicious smell coming from the kitchen reached his nostrils and his empty stomach grumbled loudly in protest. He detached himself from the wall and headed to the bar.

There was no way he would leave this place without, at least, a decent cup of coffee, he decided. Even if he had to brew it himself.

Perching himself on a stool, he rested his elbows on the counter and roughly rubbed his face. He was about to call out for something to eat when a steaming mug of coffee appeared in front of him seemingly out of nowhere, along with a large plate, full to the brim with scrambled eggs, fried bacon, toast, and pancakes. Looking up, Tony found Harvey standing on the other side of the counter, his trademark scowl firmly in place.

“Problems,” asked the older man gruffly.

Tony met his gaze and shook his head.

“Not that I know of.” He handed him the delivery slip. “I double checked.”

Harvey reached out and snatched the sheet of paper from Tony’s hand with a grunt, his favorite means of expression as it seemed, before heading back to his kitchen without a word.

“You’re welcome,” muttered Tony under his breath, grabbing his cutlery. “That was a pleasure.”

He was attacking his eggs whole-heartedly when he heard the sound of a truck pulling up in front of the bar. A few seconds later, the door opened wide, giving way to a bulky man who, after a curt nod towards Tony, headed straight to the other end of the counter.

Physically, the man was in every respect the exact opposite of Gary: as stocky and large as the delivery man was tall and slim. His face was round and flushed, adorned by a thick moustache hanging on each side of his mouth and scrubby brows half-hiding a pair of piercing brown eyes.

“Hey, Harv!” he shouted, slamming his huge bear paw on the counter. “Stop bumming around and move your butt, man. I’m dying of hunger.”

Harvey nonchalantly strolled back to the bar, wiping his hands on his apron, clearly unimpressed.

“Knock it off, will ya, Stu? You’re way too fat to die of hunger anytime soon.”

The man pushed back the peak of his cap and gave him an outraged look.

“I’m not fat. I’m hefty.”

Harvey merely shrugged.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he crouched down and retrieved a paper bag from the fridge.

“Remind me,” grumbled the man called Stu. “Why do I keep wasting my money in a place where the staff hasn’t slightest respect for the customers?”

“Because we make the best roast chicken sandwich within 100 miles,” Harvey deadpanned whilst adding a Styrofoam cup of fresh coffee to the paper bag. “That’s why.”

“It’s certainly not for your good manners, that’s for sure,” muttered the other man, as he dug a couple of notes from his inner pocket.

Harvey’s smug smirk morphed into a grin that Tony found even more disturbing than his usual scowl. It gave his features a rather wolfish look, and more importantly, it also confirmed that Harvey’s grumpiness was knowingly directed towards him. Although, Tony couldn’t figure out what he could have done to deserve it.

As Harvey held out the paper bag to Stu, the sleeve of his jacket rode up and Tony caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his forearm. It was slightly faded and barely visible on his dark skin, but Tony had no problem making out the characteristic form of a knife dripping with droplets. Not the sort you got from a traditional tattoo parlor, but rather the handcrafted kind you got whilst being behind bars or in the Forces. It was enough to convince Tony that he should keep a close eye on the man.

Stu adjusted his cap and grabbed his order.

“Okay, guys,” he huffed. “Not that I don't enjoy your charming company, but duty calls. See you on my way back, Harv.”

He gave the two men a nod and headed to the door.

“Where are you going this time?” Harvey wanted to know as the other man reached the door.

Stu turned around at the threshold and stroked his moustache.

“San Diego, then back by Albuquerque on Friday.”

Harvey tilted his head and made a face.

“That’s a hell of a trip. Be careful driving, huh?”

“Don’t worry, Mum,” quipped Stu with a wink. “I’m carrying eggs.”

The door slowly closed behind him and Harvey shook his head with a soft chuckle which made Tony stare at him as if he had sprouted another head. No kidding, the guy could actually joke and have fun with someone. Well in fact, as long as said someone wasn’t Tony of course, because as soon as Harvey turned his head back towards him the smile vanished, replaced by his usual glare.

Tony resignedly put down his flatware and reached back for his wallet to pay for his own meal, but Harvey threw up his hand to stop him.

“Meals are on the house,” he informed him, pointing at a calendar hung above the counter.

“All you have to do is to put your name on the planner.”

Tony mused for a second, but as fond as he was of Tillie’s cooking, the mere prospect of eating in front of Harvey's frozen mug was enough to spoil his appetite, so after much thought, it seemed wiser to politely decline.

“Hum, okay,” he said. “That’s good to know. But I think I’m… going to skip lunch today, in fact and…” he trailed off and flashed a goofy smile, hoping not to upset the other man even more. “Have a look around. You know to… to gauge the feeling of the town… meet the neighbors. That kind of stuff…”

Harvey favored him with a blank look before uttering a laconic “Okay.”

At the same time, the door opened on a group of women chatting happily.

“Hi, Harvey!” they waved cheerfully before heading to the dining room.

Harvey politely returned their greeting and went round the counter to take their orders while Tony picked up his plates and cutlery to put them into the dish washer, putting his name down for dinner on his way back.

As he returned to the dining room, Harvey was busy taking orders from two new customers who had arrived meanwhile.

“I think I'm gonna go,” Tony said gingerly, shuffling his feet. “Unless you need me for something else?”

“Dinner is served at 18.30,” the other man merely answered without even bothering to look at him. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t,” Tony replied calmly, willfully ignoring Harvey’s rude behavior. “See you later.”

So saying, he turned on his heels and went out.

As he slipped behind the wheel of his Camaro, he spared one last glance towards the window of the bar and though he couldn’t see anything, he would have sworn he could feel Harvey’s gaze bearing down on him.

He didn’t know what the guy’s problem was, but two could play that game and he didn’t intend to be outdone. So, with a hint of rebelliousness, he started the engine and stepped on the gas, leaving the parking lot of the _Silver Fox_ with a screech of tires and a big spray of gravel and dust. 

_To be continued_  


	14. Callie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful badly_knitted for her very helpful assistance and support and to penumbria who made this beautiful art for my fic.
> 
> As always thank you to those who have commented my work, submitted or bookmarked it. Sorry for the too long delay. No real RL excuse this time, only a massive writer's block which I hope will only be a bad memory from now on.

 

 

Tony parked the Camaro not far from a vast public park in the city center and decided to explore his new surroundings on foot.

He walked past the City Hall, an imposing building of cream bricks standing in front of the northern entrance of the park, then turned onto a side street towards what looked like the main shopping district of the town.

The streets were a lot busier than the day before, when he arrived in town, and he couldn't help noticing that a lot of license plates came from other states, thus confirming what Tillie had told him the day before about the abundance of tourist traffic in the area.

Working his way through the passers-by, he walked past a series of shops dedicated to outdoor activities which were already buzzing with intense activity. Leaving behind him the crowded shops and their bunches of hunters in fake combat uniform and hikers in flashy Gore Tex®, he spotted a small souvenir shop a bit further away.

The place was tidy and a lot quieter than the other shops with only a handful of customers wandering among the brimming shelves, under the benevolent watch of a middle aged woman sitting at the checkout counter.

The woman greeted Tony with a wide smile that he returned politely and for a few minutes, he casually strolled through the decorated cups and key rings neatly lined up on the shelves, until he finally picked up a bottle of spring water and a guide book for the region.

The cheerful owner of the shop whose name, he learnt, was Ellen, turned out to also be an incorrigible chatterbox and it took him a few minutes before he managed to escape her genuine yet unquenchable curiosity.

Once finally outside, he hesitated for a moment, then decided to retrace his steps and go back to the park. Once there, he slumped onto a bench set slightly apart. For a moment, he did nothing but sit there, under the shade of reddening maples, enjoying the relative quietness of the morning and watching people stroll along the pathways.

It felt so weird to Tony to be there, doing nothing, whilst normally, by that time, he would already have been at work or, if off duty, lying in his bed and more than likely nursing a hell of a hangover. Thinking about it, he could hardly remember the last time he had done anything else but work or drink like a fish over the last few months.

It was so pathetic how, day after day, his life had become an empty shell, filled only with regrets and bitterness.

Taking a deep breath, he uncapped the lid of his bottle and took a sip of water, before turning his attention to the guide book next to him.

He skimmed through it for a moment and soon it became obvious that the town of Providence wasn't as remote as he thought at first.

Taking advantage of its strategic position in the valley and the proximity of several rivers, the small town, founded in the middle of the eighteenth century by Irish immigrants, had nicely expanded over the years as the textile industry set up a lot of factories, until the area was stricken by the economic crisis and a series of relocations. Fortunately, the geographical location of the town, situated between a state park and a hunting reserve had helped Providence to negotiate the switch to eco-tourism and after a few years of lean times, the tourist business was now flourishing.

Though the town had no proper mall, it was endowed with two supermarkets and a plethora of shops and restaurants of all kinds. Tony noted that there was also a multiplex cinema and a community theatre.

A few pages were dedicated to the outdoor activities which could be enjoyed: horse riding, hiking, canyoning, mountain biking… It also appeared that an artificial lake had been created in the 80s which was renowned for being especially bountiful in fish and attracted hundreds of anglers on the occasion of an annual competition.

Tony raised an eyebrow. For a town which looked so remote and quiet at first sight, it obliviously had more to offer than what met the eyes.

A few pages further, he couldn't help smiling at the sight of the full color page touting the "Dragons of Providence", as the sports teams of the Saint Patrick High School called themselves. God, they looked so young and carefree in their white and bronze outfit. Sometimes, Tony really wished he could go back in time and recover the innocence and ardor of his youth. Those blessed times seemed forever ago.

Closing the book with a loud clap, Tony stood up and stretched himself. He looked around and a small smile spread on his lips. From what he had seen and read so far, Providence looked like a good enough place to start afresh. So why not try to fill his life again? And not just metaphorically.

Heading to his car, he drove to the closest of the two supermarkets and once he had bought a sandwich, he stopped by the electronics department to purchase a small coffee marker and a microwave. It was a significant investment, but this way, he wouldn't be dependent on anyone for drinking and eating when he wasn't at work.

Then he went back to Tillie's house to set up his purchases. Her pick-up was nowhere to be seen. It was almost lunch time so he just assumed the older lady had gone to the _Silver Fox_.

Once the coffee maker was set, he sat on his bed and unwrapped his "roast beef-crudités" sandwich, already regretting having turned down Harvey's offer of a meal as he took a first bite of his tasteless snack. Not that it was the worst thing he had eaten in his life, not by a long way, but the tough meat could hardly compete with Tillie's cooking.

After having disposed of the last crumbs, he set the alarm of his watch and prepared himself to take a short nap in anticipation of his first night of work.

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A few hours later, Tony woke up with a start from a disturbing dream he could only vaguely recall. Scrubbing his face wearily, he checked his watch only to discover that he hadn't heard the ringing of the alarm and had overslept by more than two hours.

Heaving himself up with a groan, he plugged in the coffee maker and brewed himself a fresh cup of coffee which he livened up with a healthy dose of hazelnut cream before heading to the bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face then brushed his teeth in hope of clearing his befuddled brain and getting rid of the bad taste his unpleasant dream had left in his mouth.

After that he returned to the bedroom and slumped back on his bed, slowly sipping the sweet beverage whilst pondering about what he should do next.

He looked around in search of any kind of occupation to kill time, but the bookshelves of his room were desperately empty and Tony himself hadn't brought books with him, with the exception of the guide book he had bought that morning. The room concealed no TV or Dvd player, so he couldn't even watch the movies tucked in his suitcase.

He still had a couple of hours ahead of him before he was due to start work, but though he didn't feel like going back into town and playing tourist again, waiting in his small room with the sole company of his inner demons wasn't a wise idea either. He hadn't felt the need to drink alcohol all day, but idleness was the root of all evil and he didn't want to take that risk.

He gulped the rest of his coffee and went to wash his cup in the sink before grabbing his wallet and keys and going out. Maybe he would have a chance to chat with Tillie before he took his shift and to test the waters with Harvey. Hopefully the guy was in a better mood.

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Half a dozen cars were parked along the facade of the _Silver Fox_ when Tony arrived. Once again though, he didn't see Tillie's pickup amongst them and he really started to wonder if the elderly woman was avoiding him.

He switched the engine off, but hesitated to get out of the car. The prospect of ending up once again head to head with Harvey wasn't exactly thrilling, but on the other hand, he didn't want to let the other man's dislike dictate his actions. After all, it was a free country and he had every right to spend time in the bar outside working hours.

Filled with renewed determination, Tony pushed open the door of the _Silver Fox_ for the second time that day and reflexively scanned the room.

A group of men in fishing jackets were gathered around their beer at one of the tables on the left, apparently retelling their day by the lake, whilst another group of three men were squatting on the stools at the far end of the counter, eyes glued to the baseball match broadcast on the plasma screen above them.

In the dining room, two booths were occupied. One by a couple of old ladies eating pastries and the second one further down the row by a family with two young kids enjoying an assortment of colorful smoothies and milkshakes.

Nobody spared Tony more than a glance, but as he walked through the door, Harvey immediately abandoned his post behind the bar and strode towards him.

"Ah, you've come just at the right time," said the older man without preamble. "Callie's car refuses to start. Tillie has gone to pick her up. She should be back soon, but I have to go. I have an appointment and I'm already late. In the meantime, you're in charge."

He grabbed a heavy leather jacket off the coat rack whilst handing a bunch of keys to Tony.

"The one with the red mark is for the till and the green one is for the reserve. For now, you won't need the other ones."

Utterly taken aback, all Tony could do was to stare at the bunch of keys in his hand, gaping like a goldfish.

"You listening to me?" asked Harvey, his sharp tone startling Tony.

"Huh, yes… but, are you sure it's a good idea? I've just started working here. And you don't even know me…"

Harvey raised a dubious eyebrow before asking matter-of-factly, "You intend to do a runner with the cash?"

Tony's eyes widened almost comically at the blatant accusation.

"What? No! Of course, not. But…"

Harvey didn't even bother to let him finish before turning on his heels with a huff and heading towards the exit.

"Okay, in that case, that's enough chatter. See you tomorrow."

Too flabbergasted to react, Tony watched the door close behind him and ran his hands down his face with a long sigh, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.

He didn't have much time to dwell on his situation though, because the door almost immediately reopened to give way to a new group of customers who headed straight to the bar. Taking a deep breath and schooling his features into an affable mask, Tony quickly passed behind the bar to take over until Tillie came back.

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Although he didn't have the slightest clue of what the man was telling him, Tony found that he had no other choice but to patiently listen to Elmer Barnes' expert advice on the best choice for a wet fly.

Tony had tried to explain to the charming old fisherman that his only experience with fly fishing came down to the movie " _A River Runs Through It_ " and that he might as well be talking to him about nuclear fusion, but Elmer hadn't seemed to give a hoot. Beer in hand, he had launched into a highly detailed, yet abstruse lecture and all Tony could do was to meekly nod and hum from time to time, whilst keeping an eye on the other customers in case someone wanted a refill.

"For Crissake, Elmer," growled Tillie as she barged into the bar and slammed her purse on the counter. "Stop torturing my staff as soon as I turn my back, will you."

"I ain't torturing him, ignorant woman," balked Elmer, unfazed. "I'm educating him. Fly fishing isn't only a fine sport. It's also an art. And whoever pretends to be a gentleman should at least know the basics."

Tillie rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and Tony couldn't hide a smirk.

"I haven't hired a gentleman, but a bartender. And I pay the kid to serve drinks, not to listen to your rambling, alright?"

Elmer turned towards Tony with a wounded expression.

"Do you think I'm boring?" he asked.

"Not at all," said Tony diplomatically, unwilling to upset the older man. "But Tillie is right. I should go back to work. Wouldn't want to get myself fired on my first day."

Elmer pursed his lips and reluctantly nodded.

"Of course not," he pouted before glaring indignantly at Tillie. "Don't wanna get you in trouble with the _tyrant_ you work for _._ "

"We can carry on later," offered Tony with a gentle pat on the arm in hope of soothing his deception.

At the same time, one of the men at the other end of the bar beckoned to Tony for a refill and he seized his chance to take his leave without looking impolite.

As he bent to grab a pint from under the counter, he noticed for the first time a petite young woman standing behind Tillie, almost completely hidden by her large figure.

Following his gaze, Tillie stepped aside and undertook to make the introductions.

"Tony, this is Callie, our waitress. Callie, this is Tony, the new bartender I told you about."

Busy with using the pump, Tony greeted the young woman with a bow of his head and a warm smile.

"Nice to meet you."

The young woman didn't return the favor though, keeping her eyes glued to the floor as she waved at him without a word.

Tony's brow furrowed. He sent a questioning look at Tillie, wondering what the hell he had done this time to get the silent treatment, but the elderly woman merely shrugged it off with a reassuring look.

He glanced over at the mousy woman whose eyes remained stubbornly downcast, avoiding his gaze.

In her late twenties, she was of medium height, slim, wearing a white and peach waitress uniform which showed off her nice curves. Though her features were partially concealed behind a thick curtain of blonde hair, Tony could still make out enough of her face to say she was rather pretty.

Contrary to Harvey, she didn't look hostile, but for some reason Tony's presence obviously made her uncomfortable and she seemed about to bolt at any moment. Harvey's earlier lecture about how "she wasn't on the menu" came back to his mind and Tony started to wonder if the fact that Tillie went to pick her up wasn't more some strategic move by the older woman than an actual necessity.

Until further notice, it seemed wiser to him to let it slide, so he just nodded his head and got back to work without further comment.

As Callie finally moved away from Tillie's side and hurried towards the lockers, Tony saw the man who had ordered another beer a moment ago nudge the guy on his right and point at her with a lecherous smile. The other man snickered, offhandedly ogling her up and down.

The pint hit the counter before them so forcefully that its contents spilled over.

"Your order, _Sir._ "

Heads lifted amongst the clientele and the temperature of the room suddenly seemed to have dropped a few degrees. Stopping mid step, Callie turned back around and stood there like a deer caught in headlights.

The first man let out a loud growl. Lifting his hands, he seemed about to vehemently express his discontent, but whatever he intended to say died on his lips when his gaze met Tony's steely green eyes boring into him.

Tony's tone had already been sharp enough to cut diamonds, but his glare was just murderous, denying the politeness of his words. The guy didn't stand a chance in the face of such a glare. It was one Tony had perfected over the years. One he reserved for the worst scumbags and which had made countless cold blooded murderers literally pee themselves in interrogation.

They stared at each other for a very brief moment, until the man realized he didn't measure up and dropped his gaze.

"Thanks," he said between gritted teeth.

"At you service," Tony replied curtly. "Come to me if you want something else," he added for the benefit of the two men, making sure to get the message across.

With this he turned around and grabbed an empty keg.

"Gonna get a refill. Anything you need while I'm there?" he asked Tillie, who had been watching the whole exchange with much interest.

She smirked and gave him a knowing look. "No, thanks. I think we're good."

With no further ado, Tony passed before Callie, still rooted to the spot, and disappeared into the dimly lit corridor, all the time sensing the weight of the young waitress' eyes on him.

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Sitting face to face at one of the booths, Tony and Callie ate in silence whilst Tillie kept the bar until the first customers arrived for dinner.

Whereas Callie was more picking at her food than really eating, Tony was literally eating his way through. His frugal lunch was long forgotten and he was more than happy to do justice to Tillie's cooking skills. They hadn't shared a word since the incident at the bar, so at least having their mouths full was a good excuse for the lack of conversation.

Callie didn't seem to be ill-disposed towards him, but rather wary, keeping her head down and avoiding him most of the time. Following Tillie's silent advice, Tony had decided that the best approach was to not approach, to keep his distance too and see what happened.

The young woman tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and Tony seized the opportunity to surreptitiously cast a glance at her delicate features and stunning baby blue eyes. She was a classic beauty, like those blonde actresses Hitchcock loved so much. With the exception of a small scar above her right eyebrow, her face was flawless and he wouldn't have been surprised at all to hear that she had won more than her share of beauty contests in her youth.

But given Harvey's earlier comment and what had happened with the guys at the bar, it didn't take a rocket scientist to guess her stunning beauty was more a curse than a blessing.

Swallowing the last mouthful of his dinner, Tony put his cutlery back on his plate and slumped back in his seat with a contented sigh.

Callie immediately stood up and started to clear the dishes.

"Let me help you," offered Tony, getting up from the table in turn, but she ignored him and swiftly stacked up plates and glasses on her forearm. Tony sighed wearily.

She was already halfway to the kitchen when one of the knives fell from the plate with a clattering noise. In three long strides, Tony was by Callie's side. Without a word, he reached down to pick the knife up and replaced it on the plate.

He was about to turn on his heels when her soft voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Thank you."

He slowly turned around and their eyes met for the first time.

"You're welcome," he said with a curt nod after a few moments.

She slightly shook her head and averted her gaze.

"No … I meant…" She hesitated, then her expression hardened. "That man was a pig," she said, almost spitting the last word. "What you did... It was nice."

Tony bit back a smirk. There was something in Callie which made him think of Jenny's character in Forrest Gump, a strange mix of fragility and resilience that was rather endearing.

"Nothing nice in that," he said with a shrug. "It's only normal. Anybody would have done the same."

"Thanks anyway," repeated Callie in a softer tone.

"Anytime," Tony assured her with a curt nod.

She shyly smiled up and, for the first time, Tony was under the impression that they were finally taking a step towards each other.

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To say that the bar was crowed would have been the understatement of the year. People of all ages and all styles were mingling in a joyous commotion. For a school day, the place was literally crammed and Tony preferred not to imagine what it would be like on Saturday night.

Bustling around behind the bar, he tried his best to keep up with the stream of orders going on whilst Tillie was busy serving the tables. From the corner of his eye, he saw her coming back to the bar, her tray tucked under her arm, and prepared himself to serve another round of drinks. But instead of handing him a new handful of orders, she walked past him and went straight to the other extremity of the bar where she firmly grabbed the rope of the antique bell which served to announce closing time and shook it vigorously.

The ringing of the bell resounded through the room, instantly shutting the customers up. All heads turned expectantly towards Tillie, who grinned, visibly pleased with herself.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have you attention, please? Don't worry, I don't intend to close early. But I'd like to borrow a few seconds of your precious time to make an announcement."

A low murmur spread through the crowd then quickly faded, everybody falling under Tillie's glare.

"Okay. As some of the most observant of you may have already noticed, our staff has gained a new member. I'd like you to say 'hello' to Tony who comes from New York and has done us the favor of stopping by and putting down his suitcases in our town."

'Hellos' rang out around the room, some of the customers raising their glasses in Tony's direction. The young man waved in return, his ears turning slightly pink under the unexpected focus put on him.

"I'm counting on you to provide him with an overview of the famous southern sense of hospitality," Tillie continued, unaware of his discomfort. "Now, you can go back to what you were doing, which means drinking like fishes so I can keep paying the bills."

A round of cheers and laughter greeted her last witty remark, before the conversations started up again with renewed vigor. Tillie passed behind Tony as a group of customers went to greet him in person and she favored him with a pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile, before melting into the crowd once again.

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Working her way through the crowd, Tillie went straight to the other side of the room, where Harvey was casually leaning against the wall, a can of Dr Pepper in hand.

"So… What do you think of him?" she asked without preamble.

Harvey set his eyes on Tony walking up and down behind the counter and pulled a dubious face.

"Don't know yet."

She crossed her arms and smirked.

"You'll be happy to know that he defended Callie's honor early," she informed him with a sly smile.

Harvey took a swig of his drink and sighed.

"So I've heard."

"That should put your mind at rest," Tillie insisted with a scowl. "At least as far as Callie is concerned."

Harvey let out a noncommittal grunt.

"Yeah. And he didn't sneak off with the cash. I guess that's something."

The elderly lady raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"So that was the reason for your hasty departure this afternoon?"

Harvey shrugged and looked away.

"Got an appointment with my chiropractor."

"Yeah," snorted Tillie. "At six thirty, not four." She shook her head. "I thought that trick got old long ago." Her eyebrow slowly went higher. "Please, tell me you didn't wait for him outside with a bat."

Harvey grunted.

"You have to admit that method has proved itself in the past."

Tillie ran her hand across her face and sighed.

"Alright, so now that he's successfully passed your stupid test, doesn't it mean he has your approval?"

The bartender clicked his tongue with a grimace.

"He looks okay," he conceded before giving her a pointed look. "If you ignore the fact that he is reeking of cop."

Tillie's brow furrowed.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

Harvey's look hardened and he defiantly lifted his chin.

"No. As long as he minds his own business and doesn't stick his nose in mine."

"Don't think it's gonna be a problem," muttered Tillie, darting a sideways glance towards the bar.

"If you say so," shrugged Harvey.

He drained the rest of his drink and put on his jacket.

"It's getting late. I'm going home." He gave her a quick kiss on her hair and squeezed her shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Have a safe trip back," she said absently, her gaze still fixed on Tony as he went back and forth along the bar.

She pensively watched him for a moment. His smile was as fake as a three-dollar bill, as he diligently served the bunch of groupies which had already formed at one extremity of the counter. Tillie could still see the disturbing hollowness haunting his emerald eyes, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to have eased a little.

It was still far from perfect, but at least it was a good sign.

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Later that night, when Tony finally crashed down on his bed, still fully clothed, he couldn't help heaving a deep sigh as his head met the soft pillow. His face resting in the crook of his arm, he started to list the pros and cons of his first day.

On the cons' side, his back was hurting like hell. His hands were dry and sore from all the washing-up he had done. He had to fight to keep his eyes open all through the drive back to his place and it would certainly take him a while to get accustomed to his new place of work.

But, on the other hand, people had turned out to be friendly and welcoming towards him. As expected, they had been understandably curious about his reasons for accepting Tillie's job offer, but also surprisingly respectful, contenting themselves with the vague answers he had served them along with their drinks, without pushing further.

In spite of Harvey's chilly reception, working at the _Silver Fox_ was a rather pleasant experience. Tillie gave him every latitude in doing his job, acting as if he had always belonged there, and Tony had to admit that it was a nice change not to have a cranky boss permanently breathing down his neck. Icing on the cake, if the warm smile Callie favored him with at the end of her shift was any indication, the ice was melting between the young waitress and him, which was definitely good news. Working with one emotionally disturbed co-worker was already enough, thanks.

Added to that, the tips were much better than what he remembered from his past experience as a student, and no less than three attractive women had given him their numbers. Numbers which he had politely accepted, though he had no intention of calling them back anytime soon.

Yeah. All in all, it wasn't so bad, he decided, before drifting off to dreamless sleep.

_To be continued._


End file.
